


I'll See You On the Other Side of The War

by imitateslife, NowYoCandysGone



Category: Anastasia - Flaherty/Ahrens/McNally
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Mutual Pining, Rare Pairings, Rated M for the Russian Revolution and possibly smut, Slow Burn, canon adjacent, comrade and con man, cop and criminal romance, update: smut in chapter 8
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-12
Updated: 2019-08-10
Packaged: 2020-05-01 18:45:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 23,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19183564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imitateslife/pseuds/imitateslife, https://archiveofourown.org/users/NowYoCandysGone/pseuds/NowYoCandysGone
Summary: After parting ways during the Revolution, Dmitry Sudayev and Gleb Vaganov never anticipate seeing each other again. However, as different as their post-war paths are, they find themselves inexplicably drawn together by circumstance, fate, and maybe even love.





	1. Together -The Battlefields Outside of Petrograd: 1920

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You Shall Recall Me Yet by Nikolay Gumilyov
> 
> "You shall recall me yet, and more than once -  
> recall my world, uncommon and exciting:  
> a clumsy world, fashioned of flame and songs,  
> but unlike others, wholly undesigning.
> 
> It could have been yours, too, but no. It had  
> proven too little, or perhaps too vast.  
> My verse, it seems, must have been very bad,  
> my pleading with the Lord for you, unjust.
> 
> But every time, drained of your strength, you'll yield  
> and utter: "I don't dare recall those nights.  
> A different world has fascinated me with all its simple, less refined delights"

As the other soldiers went to the mess hall to eat dinner, Dmitry Sudayev packed light. He couldn’t take this anymore. Joining the military had seemed like a good idea at the time: food, a roof over his head, and shoes on his feet. But he believed that the Red Army had gone too far. Dmitry had never agreed with their ideals and neither had his father, but Dmitry did what he had to do to survive. At what price? His bunk mates dropping like flies in a civil war they never should have had? So many had died; just as many had deserted.

And that was what Dmitry was about to do.

Who knew when the war would end? Who cared if they put him in front of a firing squad? They’d have to catch him first. He wouldn’t get caught. Dressed in civilian clothes, but still wearing his sturdy military boots, he planned on catching the first train straight out of Russia. He didn’t know where yet – it wasn’t a perfect plan – but there really was only one thing he hadn’t accounted for.

Lieutenant General Gleb Vaganov watched Dmitry pack, swallowing salty bile as he did. Leaning against the door-frame, he wondered how many nights they had stayed up well past curfew, sharing their hopes and fears for the future? Goddamn, he should have known Dmitry would desert. He didn’t have Gleb’s depth of convictions and was one of thousands, who just looked for a hot meal, safe harbor, warm bed before moving on. Gleb was not that sort of man. When he whispered his fears to Dmitry one night under a full moon, he still spoke glowingly of his cause – his father’s cause – and his own hopes for a better tomorrow. Change did not come overnight or with ease, but they’d fight those White Army men until all Russian people were equal.

They? No. It was clear what Dmitry was doing. There was a reason he wasn’t at supper. Gleb’s chest knotted. He should have seen this coming. Damn him.

Clearing his throat, he pushed off the door-frame.

“I shouldn’t be surprised you were going to leave without saying goodbye.” His eyes traced the familiar contours of the face he had kissed in the cold of a trench, beneath the sound of gunfire. “What is it, Sudayev? Afraid I’d change your mind?”

Dmitry looked at him painfully. He hadn’t anticipated being caught, least of all by the man he loved. Loved. A foreign word, Dmitry had never loved anyone, not like he loved Gleb. His heart cracked; Gleb had called him Sudayev.

“I should report you,” Gleb continued, even though he knew he wouldn’t. Bitterness puckered his tongue anyways. “Desertion is tantamount to treason.”

For a moment, Dmitry almost asked Gleb to come with him. Instead, when he found his voice, it was neither apology nor offer, only a soft statement of truth –

“I… I didn’t want you to find out this way. I can’t stay here anymore, Gleb. I just can’t.”

“No, I understand. The army served its purpose for you. I’m glad we could provide you what you needed, when you did.”

It wasn’t the clothes or the money Gleb begrudged Dmitry now, but the things that he had given to him in quiet moments. His secrets, his hopes, his body, his heart. Gleb had been a fool to think Dmitry loved him. Love was nothing more than the stuff of fairytales and Gleb was a grown man. He had been for years now, prematurely aged by the sound of screams and silence. The silence would kill him a little more now each night as he waited for Dmitry’s even breathing to fill it and found himself alone. But who gave a damn about one soldier’s feelings for another? Gleb hadn’t enlisted to find love, but for the love of his nation. That was the only kind of love worth anything anymore. Countries did not desert their soldiers, did they?

Tears filled Dmitry’s eyes as Gleb closed the gap between them with two strides.

“You should go.” He put a hand to Dmitry’s shoulder. “I won’t be the only one who noticed you weren’t at supper.”

Dmitry met Gleb’s gaze. His chest ached, fit to collapse at any moment. Putting both hands on Gleb’s shoulders, he held him fast. He couldn’t stay, but maybe he could give Gleb a good enough reason to leave.

“Come with me,” he said. “Russia has forsaken us both and you know it. For all we know, any of us could die at any moment, so… I love you. I don’t want to leave you. But I have no choice. So come with me and we can be together in safety.”

Anyone could die at any moment – that was life. Gleb wasn’t so sure he wasn’t dying now.

“If you loved me, you would stay,” Gleb growled. “Russia has made it safe for us to love without shame! Things are getting better each day!”

Dmitry stared in disbelief. Did Gleb really think things were getting better? The world wasn’t becoming more equal, only less free. Dmitry didn’t know what to say, but instead watched as Gleb’s squared shoulders tensed again.

“Don’t tell me you don’t want to leave when we both know it’s not true,” he continued. “Please don’t insult my intelligence that way.”

Gleb wanted to know where Dmitry would go, but knew that it would be more dangerous for them both if Dmitry told him. Instead of asking, he drew a shaky breath and took Dmitry’s hand in his. Squeezing Dmitry’s fingers, he leaned forward and kissed him.

“Go,” he whispered against Dmitry’s skin. “I’ll protect you as long as I can. It might buy you enough time to get out of Russia, if that’s what you want.”

Dmitry did his best not to cry. If he cried, he’d end up staying. And he had to go. There was no life worth living for him in the army – or after the war. He didn’t know what he wanted, or where he was going, or what he was going to do. He just knew that he had to get out.

“Thank you.” Dmitry’s voice trembled. He squeezed Gleb’s hands one last time before letting go and looking around for wandering soldiers. He made the mistake of looking back at Gleb once more before he took off running away from this dreadful, godforsaken place.

In another world, another life, Gleb would have run after Dmitry. Maybe he would have kissed him and begged him to find another way. Not in this lifetime; not in this world. Maybe staying was selfish; maybe it wasn’t. It was like being torn in half, watching Dmitry sprint into the night. For all he wanted to hate him for leaving, some part of Gleb would always be in love with some part of Dmitry.


	2. Gleb - Russia: 1920-1924

As Gleb selected twenty of the camp’s best men to saddle up and ride with him in a search party, he realized that the hour and a half head-start Dmitry had gained on them wasn’t enough to get out of Russia. Heartsick, he saddled his horse and relayed his plan for the search party. They wouldn’t travel far; they wouldn’t search long. The full moon was bright, but daylight would give them better visibility if they were truly committed to finding Dmitry Sudayev. Gleb did not think the army would devote two days’ resources to this search. Holstering his pistol at his side, Gleb gave the orders to ride into the night. 

Twenty minutes into the search, about five miles out from camp, the sound of gunfire hissed and exploded in the air around them. White Army men, hiding in the brush aimed to spook the horses, aimed to kill their riders. Shouts rose into the air as Gleb’s men fired back. From his vantage point within the makeshift calvary, Gleb could see that they weren’t greatly outnumbered and had, perhaps, chanced upon these men as much as they had been chanced upon by them. A few lengths down, Sobol cried out and slumped in his saddle. 

“Chernov!” Gleb shouted. “Get him out of here!”

As his men ushered each other off the frontlines, Gleb aimed his pistol into the brush. A pained cry told him he hit his target. Again and again, he and his men aimed into the darkness. The sounds of retreat - feet crunching against leaves and grass, bodies being dragged, mournful cries into the inky sky - left Gleb’s party the victors. He looked around. Chernov had bandaged Sobol. Most of his men were covered in more dirt than blood. As he counted, though, Gleb could only count nineteen.

“Has anyone seen Lakovsky?” he asked. “Where is Lakovsky?”

A twig snapping behind them whirled Gleb around. He turned his horse to face the intruder and lifted his gun. Out of the treeline, Lakovsky emerged on his bay mare, hands up and smiling. 

“Looks like I wasn’t the only one having a little fun,” he said, riding towards Gleb. Gleb continued to train his pistol on Lakovsky. “While you boys were fighting those White Army bastards, I actually bothered to complete our mission.”

“Don’t be coy,” Gleb spat. “Where the hell were you?”

“I killed Dmitry Sudayev.”

For a moment, Gleb thought he would shoot Lakovsky. His dark eyes burned, staring Lakovsky down. But he had his hands up. Their comrades were watching. Gleb lowered his pistol. He blinked back hot tears, swallowing.

It hadn’t been enough.

“We need to fill out the report,” he said quietly. “Let’s ride.”

The snap of the report from General Morzov’s aide-de-camp made Lieutenant General Gleb Vaganov look up. He leaped to his feet to see General Morzov standing in the doorway of the airless tent. Gleb motioned to give him respect before Morzov signaled for him to lower his salute. Easing into a less formal stance, Gleb eyed his commanding officer warily. Six hours ago, he had organized a search for Dmitry Sudayev - to find him and bring him back to be tried under Bolshevik law. Instead, one of his men, Colonel Lakovsky, had shot and killed Dmitry. If it had been another soldier, just one of thousands, maybe Gleb would not have cried in the privacy of his tent after the fact. He could blame his stinging, red eyes on the ride he’d led in search of Dmitry, but he wondered if, perhaps, Morzov and his aide-de-camp had come to tell him that his report had been incomplete in omitting the personal nature of his relationship with the deceased. Gleb bit his cheek and picked up the report, flipping through the pages and reading his story and what Lakovsky corroborated, only stopping when he read -

Brigadier General Lakovsky will be overtaking the forces just outside of Petrograd. General Vaganov will report to and take control of forces in Volgograd.

“Sir?”

Morzov extended a hand to Gleb and he shook it. Clapping him on the back, Morzov offered a rare smile. 

“It’s good to see where your loyalties lie, Vaganov,” he said. “That little skirmish of yours deserves recognition. You depart for Moscow in the morning and from there, to meet your new troops. We haven’t much time for a ceremony - the war’s almost won.”

Catching sight of his new medals in the window en route to Moscow, Gleb did not recognize himself. He looked more like his father every goddamn day. 

Moscow was filled with ghosts. Gleb didn’t think Dmitry was actually there. It was Petrograd - Petersburg - he always spoke of with warmth and affection. However, whispers reached Gleb’s new city that the deserter from his old division had been a White Army spy and broke his heart all over again. Dmitry’s death was celebrated, whenever it came up. As such, Gleb could feel Dmitry’s ghost dog his steps in the Moscow camp. He would catch sight of two soldiers, heads bent in conversation, in the mess hall, who didn’t have eyes for the rest of the world and his chest would ache. He would hear a laugh in the barracks when no one should be laughing and his new medals felt heavier against his chest. The youthful optimism of his new soldiers reminded him of happier days, at the war’s start, when he had someone to be optimistic with. Often alone, he gained a reputation of austerity that Gleb did not think he deserved. It didn’t matter. There were more battles - planned, tactical moves - and the routine of it all gave him the stability and security he knew it would. His father had been a military man before him. This was what life was like in army camps. What he had known at Dmitry’s side - Dmitry, if the rumors were to be believed, who had betrayed him - was a fluke. Soldiers weren’t made for such warmth. They could handle the bitter cold of Russian snowfalls, warmed only by their private hopes for a better future. 

And if Gleb warmed himself privately in his quarters to the thoughts of what might have been if Dmitry had stayed...

When the war was over - won, as Morzov predicted, Gleb leaped at an opportunity to work as a colonel in the police force in Petrograd. He’d spent his childhood years there, back when it was St. Petersburg before his family relocated to Yekaterinburg. The young men and women he had known in his teenage years were mostly lost to the wars Russia had fought since the outbreak of the Great War. He knew he could never return to Yekaterinburg, where his childhood had been lost. He did not want to stay in Moscow. But Petrograd… He remembered the mighty rivers with the kind of fondness most men reserved for boyhood friends. He thought of the beautiful bridges, the bustle of a city rising to prosperity. He thought of Dmitry, talking about the palaces and piers and how he’d loved it all. There was no other place to go. Gleb accepted the commandership within the police force without hesitation. 

Petrograd held promises of tomorrow that Gleb cupped in his palms like miniature suns for light on the dark nights he walked a beat or the dreary mornings when he read the news. It would have been easier if the promises of Petrograd were not so warming. Maybe if the city had been entirely bleak - only starving masses, with no budding cultural hub; only rationed living spaces, with no leaps into the bright, new century - he could pay his penance for Dmitry’s death. Instead, Gleb was not only forced to live but allowed to thrive. He couldn’t forget the love he’d let die - and in fifty years, when he lay on his deathbed, he’d still regret Dmitry’s death if that wasn’t what killed him - but new loves took root.

It happened when he sprained his ankle on the new exercise machine in the fitness center. Gleb hated the clacking monstrosity Police Commissioner Gorlinsky ordered be installed and tested. The wooden slats shook under his weight and the intensity of his feet slapping down as he sprinted. When it broke, Gleb’s foot slipped between wooden slats and something pulled. Two other officers escorted him to the neighboring military hospital. He sat on the hard cot, leg, outstretched, wiggling his toes to comfort himself that his ankle was not broken. Each time he did, he grimaced afresh. The clicking of heeled shoes caught his attention. Looking up, he saw a blonde head, bent over his chart. Slowly, the blonde nurse looked up. Her face, familiar, matched his in shock. Her pink lips parted in a perfect “o” and her hazel eyes rested on his face as if they’d longed for a place so comfortable to rest for years. Gleb sputtered, laughing.

“Masha?”

The girl who lived next door in Yekaterinburg, one of his friends when he was young, the young woman everyone said he would have married if there hadn’t been a war, smiled back at him. She lowered her clipboard and approached the cot. 

“You’ve fought in two wars, General, but according to your chart, it’s treadmill that bested you in battle?”

Gleb laughed. 

“They’re crafty opponents, Masha,” he told her. “Or should it be Nurse Voronina? Or… something else?”

“I’m still Masha Voronina,” she said, unlacing his boot. “Not all of us reinvented ourselves during the war.”

Gleb grunted in pain as she slid his shoe off.

“It’s just Gleb with my friends,” he said. “It’d be nice to have friends again.” 

“Lonely at the top?” 

“Unbelievably. God, it’s good to see you.”

“It’s good to see you too, Gen- Gleb. Good to see you alive. And healthy - despite the circumstances. Not all your comrades fared so well.”

“I’m grateful every day,” he said. “You know, maybe when you’re done with my ankle, we could go for lunch? Surely, they let you take breaks -”

“I’m already done,” she said, looking up from wrapping his ankle. “But not today. What are you doing on Tuesday?”

And so it went. Maybe it was love, maybe it was the warmth familiarity brought, but they took up together quietly. She spent most nights in his private flat, though whether that was because hers was overcrowded with cousins and strangers or because she enjoyed her time with him was hard to tell. It was a comfort to have her lay across his chest when they were both too exhausted to talk, too cold to sleep alone. When they spoke, they spoke often of the changes about to blow through the city. Buzzing excitement passed between them like an electrical current. Was that love? Gleb wasn’t sure. It wasn’t the same as what he felt for Dmitry. He tried not to think of Dmitry, but it proved a Sisyphean task. 

“It’s okay,” Masha said one night, carding her fingers through his dark hair. “You aren’t the only one I dream of at night, either.”

Her lost love had been another nurse, one she’d lost on the front in Siberia to poor working conditions. By the light of a dying fire, they whispered their lost love stories. Zoya had been from Petrograd and the cousins Masha lived with were mostly Zoya’s brothers and sisters. What money she could spare went towards their care; her family had mostly perished in the war. 

“And who is it you think of?” she asked, tracing circles across Gleb’s pectorals. “What was his name?”

“Dmitry,” he croaked out. “He served in my division… he left me.”

“After the war?”

“He deserted, Masha. He left the cause, he left me. I don’t want to talk about him anymore.”

She pressed a kiss to his jaw and said something he didn’t quite hear. His eyes burned as he stared into the wood burning stove. When he didn’t respond, Masha pulled him in for a real kiss, rolling on top of him and offering to help him put his memories aside for a night. Neither was the other’s first love. Maybe neither was the other one’s love at all. But in the new Russia, one kept warm and safe however one could. 

Years passed in this way, bringing Gleb not only warmth but comfort. His new regime kept him fed and housed and clothed and busy. Masha kept him company. Whenever he felt unfulfilled or restless, he made himself useful to the city’s people. As Petrograd became Leningrad, it was equally common to see Colonel Vaganov feeding street urchins after hours as it was to see him chase them away from the public square by day. He and Masha worked relentlessly in their own fields to better the city. 

“It would be a good match,” Captain Bykov told him as they walked a frozen January beat together. “I know the new order wants to do away with marriages all together but-”

“You don’t understand what the new order wants,” Gleb said, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Or what I want.”

“If you don’t want Voronina, there’ll be plenty of men - plenty of women, too - who will gladly take her off your hands.” Bykov held up his hands. “Not me. Katya and I are plenty happy.”

“You better be, with four little ones to feed,” Gleb said, half-teasing, half-testily. “They have to be coming from somewhere.”

Bykov looked away, rubbing life back into his hands. Gleb looked out at the thick breadline with a sigh. His breath clouded in the air and floated away. When he’d dreamt of a better Russia, where everyone was fed, he hadn’t known the logistics of feeding the masses would look more like some elaborate herding operation. Sheeplike, the citizens of the city waited for their turns to be fed. Gleb looked away as he and Bykov skirted the edge of the line. He’d restocked before dawn - an officer’s privilege. As they rounded the line, people standing in it turned their eyes to their shoes. Gleb’s chest fell like a poorly baked loaf of bread. He wanted to say something, but Bykov elbowed him and said - 

“You know, speaking of your not fiancee…”

Gleb looked up to see Masha rushing down the cobblestones. Smiling he reached for her and kissed her quickly - he was still walking a beat, after all. 

“Are you coming to the speech this afternoon?” he asked her.

“The one you’ve practiced on me one thousand times?” she teased. “I think I could give your speech. Together, we will forge a fair and compassionate Russia- Hello, Captain Bykov.”

“Good morning, Masha,” Bykov said. “I was just telling your boyfriend he better appreciate what an intelligent and kindhearted woman he has.”

“Will you be coming to the speech?” Gleb asked again. “I’ll look for you in the crowd.”

“Walk me to work, Gleb?” Masha asked, tucking her arm in his. “I’m sure Bykov can handle the breadline alone for a few minutes.”

Bykov waved. 

“It’s a breadline, Vaganov,” he said. “I can handle it.”

Gleb took one more regretful look at the breadline as two men started squabbling. For a moment, he would have sworn he recognized one of them, and thought it was Dmitry for just a moment, but Masha twined her gloved fingers in his and tugged him. As they walked away, there were shouts from the breadline, then from Bykov. Gleb twisted his head to look back. Masha tugged his arm. 

“Bykov can handle it, moy dorogoi,” she murmured. “Besides, if it is a riot, you don’t need a black eye on your day to impress the Commissioner.”

Gleb’s shoulders tightened. Tucking her closer to him as they walked, they worked their way up the street towards the hospital.

“Are you coming?” he asked as they neared the steps. 

Masha pulled away from his side and hopped up a step so she was closer to eye-level with him. Gleb’s heart pulsed in his throat as she slicked back his hair and fussed with his medals. 

“If I can get the time off, I will,” she said. “You know I don’t want to miss it.”

“I know.” Gleb folded his arms. “You didn’t want to tell me no in front of Bykov.”

“No. I’m not telling you “no” now.” Masha sighed. She smoothed Gleb’s arms to his sides and then eased the wrinkles in his coat with her flat palm. “Gleb, I work in a hospital. I never know who or what will come through the doors. You’ve known this about me, about my job long enough... But if I can leave to see your speech, I will. And even if I can’t, there should be no reason Gorlinsky doesn’t make you a commander when you’re through.”

Gleb leaned forward to meet Masha in a kiss. Her lips were warm against the morning chill, but not against much else. Gleb gripped the banister of the stairs and watched as Masha turned and rushed up the rest, into the doors of the hospital. Dabbing his lips for stray lipstick marks, Gleb pocketed his handkerchief and turned back to the street. Maybe the new order gave him a good enough excuse to protest marriage, even after all these years, but his heart gave him a better reason. 

He couldn’t ask for Masha’s whole heart when she couldn’t even give him an hour of her time. He couldn’t ask for an hour of her time when he couldn’t give her his whole heart. He couldn’t give her his whole heart when it still searched for Dmitry in every breadline and every crowd.

Alone on the street, Gleb made his way back towards the breadlines and Bykov, the clock ticking towards his chance to distinguish himself from the other police colonels in Commissioner Gorlinsky’s eyes. For a moment, he thought he glimpsed Dmitry on the street, but, blinking, Gleb cleared his vision to look only towards the bright and glorious future that lay ahead.


	3. Dmitry - Russia: 1920-1924

His body coursed with adrenaline as he ran, trying to get as far away from the camp as possible as quickly as he could. He would escape now or die trying. He wouldn’t stay here any longer. And it wasn’t as if he was leaving nothing behind. When he enlisted in the Red Army, he hadn’t anticipated falling in love. Gleb may have been his superior officer, but when they were together, they were equals. They were just two men in love. The world around them burned, but they were together and that’s what mattered.

Or so Dmitry thought.

_If you loved me, you would stay_. Gleb had said to him not an hour ago.  _Russia has made it safe for us to love without shame…Please don’t insult my intelligence that way._

Those words stuck in Dmitry’s mind and he genuinely considered going back. Showing up to supper late as if he hadn’t just tried to desert. But he knew that he  _had_  to do this. He didn’t have a choice anymore. He loved Gleb, but he knew that his  _freedom_  meant more. If it was meant to be, he and Gleb would cross paths again someday. So, he continued to run.

Stopping after about what felt like two hours or so of running, Dmitry realized that he hadn’t eaten supper. He didn't know how far he had gone, or where he was. Perhaps he could have waited to desert until after everyone had gone to bed. They had more than likely sent out a search party by now.

But it was too late to look back. He had to eat quickly and keep going, lest someone find him out here. As he was about to pull some bread from his bag, he heard gunfire in the distance and yelling. He could have sworn that he heard Gleb's voice as well. So much for eating…Dmitry quickly replaced the bread in his bag and took off running again, his boots betraying his location as he crunched through the grass.

“There you are!” a familiar voice yelled.  _Shit. It’s Lakovsky._ “Deserter!” Dmitry cursed under his breath and sped up as the sound of close gunfire sounded in the darkness. His pursuer continued to fire, Dmitry weaving and dodging the bullets as he ran. Finally, he came across a path and several small houses. He could use them as cover! Hiding behind a wall, he could hear Lakovsky’s boots on the gravel path moving slowly as he searched for Dmitry.

“Where are you, traitor?” he called out. Dmitry’s breathing was heavy as he did his best to stay silent, hidden in the shadows. Maybe Lakovsky would give up and leave. Maybe he would come back with reinforcements if Dmitry didn’t run. He had to wait for Lakovsky to leave before he continued, however.

He stayed as quiet as humanly possible, his heartbeat racing and sweat beading at his hairline. He didn’t know how long he could stay like this. The night was dead silent, he didn’t hear Lakovsky’s boots anymore…he could be waiting to ambush Dmitry for all he knew.

Finally, Dmitry took off running again, Lakovsky be damned. Despite all of the blood rushing in his ears, he didn’t hear any pursuers—until the sound of a gunshot rang out and he felt a sharp pain in his leg. Another gunshot, and a sharp pain in his shoulder. Was this the end? He couldn’t go any farther…not on an injured leg. So, Dmitry followed his first instinct…he collapsed to the ground. Maybe if Lakovsky thought he was dead; he could get away safely.

After several moments, he heard boots on gravel getting closer to him. He was bleeding out on the ground in severe pain, on the verge of passing out. Before he blacked out, he felt the barrel of a gun poke him in the back, then there was a sharp kick to the gut. Dmitry had to stay completely lifeless, to avoid being found out.

“Serves you right, traitor.” Was the last thing Dmitry heard before blacking out entirely…

Dmitry woke an indeterminable amount of time later, no longer on the cold ground where he had passed out. He could smell something cooking, and there was someone…no…two people speaking quietly nearby. Dmitry blinked away his exhaustion and groaned in pain as he tried to sit up. He failed, and fell back on whatever he was laying on, once again, letting out a pained moan.

“Easy there, fella.” One of the people said. Dmitry looked up to find a man with a full beard standing above him. “You won’t be going anywhere for a while.” Dmitry tried to speak back, but could only mutter a whisper, his throat burned.

"--ere am I?" He finally managed.

"At my home in Pudost," the man said. Dmitry's mind was fuzzy, but he knew that Pudost was not far from Petrograd. A day's walk, if one moved quickly. "I found you on the road, bleeding, left for dead. But you were still alive, somehow...so I brought you here."

"...who are you?" Dmitry asked.

"Ah! Where are my manners? My name is Kostya. Over there is my wife, Larina." Dmitry looked over across the small room to where a very pregnant woman stood, watching him with concern in her eyes. “What is your name?”  
  
“Dmitry…” he answered cautiously.

“Well, Dmitry, you’re very lucky that I found you when I did. That, and the fact that my wife has some medical training. She was able to patch you up without too much issue since you were already unconscious.”

“Thank you…” Dmitry said quietly.

Dmitry, honestly, didn't know what to make of all of this information. Why was he alive? Why had Kostya rescued him? He didn't deserve to be rescued...he was a deserter, a traitor to his homeland. He had left behind the only man he ever truly loved… he didn't deserve to live.

Exhaustion overpowered Dmitry then. He was still in a great deal of pain, and trying to sit up on his bad shoulder had not been a good idea.

"Rest. You're safe now." He heard Kostya mutter something about the 'horrid red army', but he couldn't fully make it out. He was too weak and tired to say anything more.

Dmitry’s recovery was slow and arduous. He spent what felt like several months in bed, although Larina later told him that it was only two weeks before he was able to move about (albeit with difficulty) the house. Dmitry did his very best to repay Kostya and Larina for their kindness by helping out around the house and in Larina’s garden. With Larina being pregnant, it was much more difficult for her to accomplish certain tasks, which is where Dmitry and Kostya were happy to help her. Dmitry was also there alongside them when Larina gave birth to her son, who they named Nikolai. He was always happy to care for and play with the baby when Larina and Kostya were unable to.

He walked with a pronounced limp now, thanks to the bullet that hit his leg. If Kostya hadn’t found him when he did, Dmitry might have lost his leg altogether. He was eternally grateful to his new friends for helping him in his time of need, and that they agreed with his ideals and that this war was useless. Dmitry refrained from telling them that he had deserted the Red Army, though his boots may have given away that he had once been a soldier.

The war finally ended on October 25 of 1922. The Red Army had  _won_. Dmitry knew then that he had to get out of Russia as soon as possible. He would  _walk_ out of Russia if he had to. Of course, a plan like that required money and exit papers. So for now, he’d have to return to Petrograd. When he explained his plan to Kostya, the man looked at him like he was insane.

“Are you certain that returning to Petrograd is the best plan, Dmitry?” Kostya asked him. “It is  _overrun_  by Bolsheviks. There is no way they will give you exit papers.”

“I will figure something out. I grew up in Petrograd you know. I know it like the back of my hand.”  
  
“Allow me to drive you, then.” Kostya insisted, his voice firm. Dmitry shook his head. He had already expended enough of the couple’s kindness over the last two years. He simply couldn’t.

“I’m sorry, Kostya. But I have to do this on my own,” Dmitry said, waving his hand dismissively.

“I’m more concerned about your leg, Dmitry. Will you be able to walk all the way to Petrograd?” Dmitry thought for a moment. Perhaps one last act of kindness from his friend wouldn’t hurt. It would certainly get him back faster than walking would. Hugging Larina goodbye and climbing into Kostya’s car, Dmitry set off for St. Petersburg...now Petrograd.

 -Two Years Later: Leningrad, January 1924-

 

“Oi, Sudayev! Can you go any faster?” Tomas scolded as Dmitry waited in the breadlines.   
  
“Oi, Orlov,” Dmitry mimicked back sarcastically while rubbing his hands together for warmth. “I don’t control the speed of the line.”

Tomas obviously didn’t like this answer because he delivered a swift kick to the back of Dmitry’s bad leg, causing him to yell and crumple to the ground in pain. Tomas let out a malicious laugh, then he proceeded to step in front of Dmitry while he struggled to stand.

“What’s wrong, Sudayev? Lost your balance?” Tomas taunted, looking down at Dmitry. He turned his back and Dmitry, struggling, managed to stand and push Tomas into the man standing in front of them.

“What’s wrong, Orlov? Lost  _your_  balance?” Dmitry spat back. Tomas spun around, his eyes angry, and grabbed Dmitry by his shirt, throwing him to the ground.

“Don’t get cocky, Sudayev. I could beat you in a fight any day.” Tomas spat. Dmitry was about to say something back, but they had gained the attention of the two Bolshevik soldiers working the breadline. One of them was with a woman, and she dragged him away from the scene.  _Probably for the best..._ Dmitry thought bitterly.  _One of us is bound to get arrested anyway._  
  
“What’s going on here?” The officer demanded. “Are you two causing trouble?”

“No, officer,” Dmitry said, not making eye contact with the officer or Tomas. “I have a bad leg, and I lost my balance. When I fell, I accidentally pushed the man in front of me.” The officer eyed Dmitry, looking for truth. Then he eyed Tomas.

“Is this true?” the officer asked.

“Yes, sir,” Tomas said bitterly. He obviously didn’t want to be arrested just as much as Dmitry.

“Very well. Consider this a warning. I don’t want to hear any more yelling.” The officer said, turning and walking back out to the outside of the line.

Dmitry had just wanted to get his stale bread and move on. Vlad was waiting for him after all. He limped through the line and got his bread. As he made his way towards where he and Vlad had been staying, he passed Tomas and his friends. All of them were whispering and laughing, probably at him.  
  
“Hey, Sudayev!” Tomas called out. “You  _ublyudok kaleka_! Look at me when I’m talking to you!” Dmitry had been ignoring Tomas, just wanting to go somewhere where he could eat his bread in peace.  
  
“What do you want, Orlov?” Dmitry said, turning around to face Tomas.

“You sold my brother exit papers.  _Fake_ exit papers,” Tomas said. “He got arrested while trying to leave the country. Care to explain?” Dmitry rolled his eyes. If someone got arrested because they were too confident with their forged exit papers, that wasn’t his fault.

“I told him to keep a low profile.”

“Look, Sudayev, you have made your career in forgeries, but now it’s personal. I hope they trace those papers back to you and you get arrested.” Dmitry rolled his eyes. He was excellent at covering his tracks when he and Vlad sold exit papers. There was no way they could trace it back to him.

“Just leave me alone, Orlov.” Dmitry snapped. “It’s not my fault that your brother was a  _kretin_.” Tomas grabbed the lapels of Dmitry’s jacket and pulled him close enough that Dmitry could feel the heat of his breath on his face.

“Say that again, I dare you.” Dmitry pulled away from Tomas, trying not to fall over.

“You’re not worth my time, Orlov.”

“You’d best watch your back, Sudayev. One day, you’ll end up with a knife in it.”  
  
Dmitry thought hard about Tomas’ words as he made his way back ‘home’. He had rubbed some people the wrong way, it was true. But his forgery “business” had blossomed, and even though he still wanted to get out of Russia, he knew that he needed to help others get out first. Repay the kindness he was shown in his time of need.

As he approached the hospital, he saw someone he never thought he’d see again. To a typical citizen, it was just another Bolshevik officer. But to Dmitry--it was so much more.

He was with a woman, a very pretty one at that. They stopped outside the front entrance and spoke briefly before he leaned down and kissed her before they parted ways. Before anyone could notice him staring, Dmitry disappeared into the nearest alley and continued to watch from a distance.

_Gleb..._

Dmitry could feel his heart breaking all over again. Not only was Gleb still alive, but he was  _here_  in the city! They were within a stone’s throw of each other...and who knew how long they had been? He had moved on...it was understandable, really. Dmitry was thought to be dead, after all. But there was something about seeing him with another, something about seeing him again at all that set his heart on fire.

_Do you think of me?_

_Do you still love me?_

_I still love you..._

 


	4. Together - Leningrad: 1924

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "An Attempt at Jealousy" by Marina Tsvetaeva
> 
> How is your life with the other one,  
> simpler, isn’t it? One stroke of the oar  
> then a long coastline, and soon  
> even the memory of me
> 
> will be a floating island  
> (in the sky, not on the waters):
> 
> [...]
> 
> How is your life? Are you fussing?  
> Flinching? How do you get up?  
> The tax of deathless vulgarity  
> can you cope with it, poor man?
> 
> [...]
> 
> How is your life with a stranger  
> from this world? Can you (be frank)  
> Love her? Or do you feel shame  
> like Zeus’ reins on your forehead?
> 
> How is your life Are you  
> healthy? How do you sing?  
> How do you deal with the pain  
> of an undying conscience, poor man?
> 
> [...]
> 
> Tell me: Are you happy?

* * *

 

When the paperwork to bring Dmitry Sudayev in for questioning came across Commander Gleb Vaganov's desk, he understood immediately why the man he'd be seeing was arrested for forgery. Dmitry Sudayev, shot by friendly fire some years ago (four - Gleb counted them, backward, from the stripes and medals on his uniform with ease), was dead. Gleb remembered reconvening the search party after the unplanned skirmish and the triumphant flash of Lakovsky’s eyes as he told his tale about gunning down the _traitor._ Years had brought some healing – some, but Gleb did not think a man recovered from his first love. It was a wound that never quite finished scarring over. He felt that if this Dmitry Sudayev wasn’t a fraud, some part of him would know, the way swallows knew their way back to their nests each summer.

Gleb clicked his pen as he reread the report. Forgery, petty theft, grand larceny… An impressive record for a dead man, Gleb thought with weak, bleak humor. Dmitry would have appreciated the joke. The sound of footsteps in triplicate caught Gleb’s attention: two soldiers, one civilian, he could tell by the sound of boots on the tile and the uneven steps of the third pair of feet, limping down the concrete floors.

“Well, comrade, your resume is certainly impressive for a _dead man,_ ” Gleb drawled, pretending to look at the folder. “So, tell me, just who are you really?”

He looked up and met Dmitry’s gaze for the first time in four years. Until seeing Gleb, Dmitry was sure that this would be how and where he died. He wasn’t so sure he wouldn’t die before the end of the arrest, but when the officer he faced was _Gleb_ … he couldn’t even speak. Dmitry hadn’t anticipated getting caught - that’s what he got for trusting another con besides Vlad - but he expected to face his ex-lover even less.

“Lieutenants,” Gleb said, looking frantically from Dmitry to the two soldiers who had brought him in, “leave us.”

The pain of that first-love-wound bloomed fresh as Gleb stared at Dmitry, listening to the lieutenants retreat into the hallway to leave them alone. His was not a private office. Secretaries and other commanders shared the space. For now, Gleb and Dmitry were alone. Dmitry successfully wrestled the urge to run into Gleb’s arms. Swallowing thickly he said -

"It seems you've done well for yourself, _Commander General Vaganov_."

Gleb choked down a laugh. For all Dmitry’s bitterness, it was the understatement of the year. Gleb was next in line for the deputy commissionership, well-known and respected in police circles of the city, of the country, but Gleb still wasn’t sure if he’d done any differently than any man in his circumstances would have. He had worked his way up, tried to make a better life not only for himself but for his people; he had done all a man alone could. And Dmitry? Bile rose in Gleb’s throat. Dmitry was supposedly dead, shot by Gleb’s forces. But Dmitry was very good at getting by - better than any dead man. He had done things to survive, things that he was not proud of. He watched Gleb tap his palm with the folder in his hand and knew that those things, things he didn’t want the government (much less his ex-lover) to know, were probably in that folder.

“I get by,” Gleb said. “Something, it seems, you’ve been very good at until now.

He dropped the folder onto the desk. At any moment, someone could walk in – there was no privacy. Any desire Gleb had to embrace his former love was leashed by the same calculation that had kept him alive and advanced him so far. Still, watching Dmitry stand there, weight painfully and unevenly shifted sent a pang through Gleb’s chest.

“Sit,” he said, gesturing to the wooden chair in front of his desk. “Please. It seems we have… a lot to catch up on.”

Dmitry didn't want to sit. He didn't want to pretend that he wasn't about to be arrested and put in front of a firing squad for his laundry list of crimes. But Gleb didn't seem angry, and if he was in front of anyone else he'd already be marching off to his death. Dmitry eased himself into the chair, watching Gleb all the while.

"Yes, I...suppose we do."

“I… I know what you’ve been doing for the last four years.” Gleb rested his hand on the file and slid it towards Dmitry. “In an official capacity, of course, but I never thought it was you. I was prepared to arrest a man for impersonating a… well, for impersonating you. I never thought… Have you really been in Petro- _Leningrad_ this whole time?”

Dmitry didn't even know where to begin. The only reason that Gleb knew anything about what he'd been up to was because of loose-lipped informants who had spilled information that wasn't theirs to share. Dmitry wasn't proud of what he had to do to survive, but he was no snitch. If Gleb wanted to know where he'd been hiding or who he'd been hiding out with, he wouldn't be sharing that information.

"I suppose I have some explaining to do," Dmitry said. "The short answer is no...not this entire time. Only the last...two years or so?"

Gleb nodded. That tracked with the paperwork, unfortunately. The few moments Gleb dared to believe Dmitry was alive, he hoped against hope that he was in Spain. England. America - anywhere far away, where he could be as happy as he could not be in Russia. Instead, they’d been in the same city and Gleb had never realized. Why had he never realized?  He looked for Dmitry everywhere, but never in the slums and the street corners where vagrants and criminals roamed. He knew better than to hope for Dmitry to even be alive, but if he was, Gleb hoped for better for him. Nodding, he looked into Dmitry’s eyes.

“And for those two years, you’ve been doing… this.” It wasn’t a question.

"Yeah...I'm sure you read everything..."

  
Gleb lowered his voice, murmuring, “It’s a shame our paths didn’t cross sooner.”

Dmitry looked back at the folder. There were probably things in that folder that painted Dmitry as a criminal of the worst sort...but he was just doing what he needed in order to survive. Weren't they all in this new world?

"Look, I was just doing what I had to do. After that _bastard_ Lakovsky shot me, leaving Russia became more difficult. A family took me in, nursed me back to health. They didn't realize that I was once a soldier, too because I didn't tell them." He sighed. "By the time I was well enough to be on my own again, I had no means to escape. I didn't have much money, to begin with. You have to understand, Gleb...not all of us are benefiting under the new system."

“You think I don’t know that?” Gleb snapped.

He walked the beat, like any good officer doing his duty. He saw. He lived it, perhaps not to the extent Dmitry had, but who hadn’t known hunger and cold and lack under the new regime? The ideals of equality and the promises of land and bread were never met. Gleb’s shiny optimism of his youth was dulled, rust-over and made to gleam by well-crafted speeches and the desperate need to believe in the good in the world so as to keep from giving up on life altogether. Uncurling his fist on the desk, Gleb looked at his splayed fingers. Slowly, he looked up.

“I don’t have any personal condemnation for what you did,” he said. “I’m… glad you survived, whatever the cost. The government, however, doesn’t exactly smile upon some of the things you’ve done. Maybe… we can come to an agreement?”

Dmitry looked at Gleb. He had fully expected to be arrested and jailed, or worse, killed, but now he felt like he had a chance. He didn’t know what Gleb would expect him to do, but Dmitry knew that he had to continue to survive, and if that meant making a deal with his ex-lover… well, that didn’t seem so bad.

"What kind of agreement?"

Gleb hesitated. He could not ask Dmitry to serve as an informant. If he agreed to, they’d see each other more regularly, but that was just it: _if he agreed to it._ This was a man who left the Red Army when its promises still tasted like hope. That didn’t mean Gleb didn’t want to offer him something, some protection. He’d loved Dmitry once. (He loved him still. How would he be able to look Masha in the eye tonight – or any other – when he knew Dmitry was alive and nearby?) Gleb hated him, too, for letting him think he was dead.

“Most offenders get a warning,” he said. “Consider this yours. If my men catch you again, I can’t guarantee you I will be there to… intervene. So don’t let my men catch you again. Do you understand? Do not let _my men_ catch you again.”

"I understand," Dmitry said with a slow nod.

He couldn't promise that he'd end up in this office again, but if Dmitry was more careful...perhaps they could see each other more often without Dmitry being an informant. However, Dmitry had to make sure that he didn't reveal where he was squatting, lest it be raided. At least Gleb wasn’t asking him to be an informant. Dmitry could never do that.

"Good. I'm glad," Gleb said. He sawed his jaw back and forth. He wanted to kiss Dmitry to see if he still tasted the same as much as he wanted to scream at him for abandoning him. Instead, Gleb rose from his chair and offered a hand to him for a handshake. "I'll escort you out. I'm due to walk a beat soon, anyway."

Dmitry remained seated for a moment, debating whether or not he should accept Gleb's offer to walk him out. He knew that he had gained a reputation, and if he ran into the wrong person, he could get in trouble. But Gleb could protect him if he accepted. Perhaps it wasn't the best idea...but every single fiber of his being didn't want to leave Gleb yet. So he stood and shook Gleb's hand. Their touch felt electric to Dmitry as if they were meant to be holding hands.

"Thank you. That would be...appreciated."

Shaking hands felt so wrong to Gleb - professional. Gleb was at work, but, still, this was Dmitry. There had been a time where they'd touched much more intimately. Gleb swallowed and let go.

"Of course," he said. "Follow me."

Gleb led Dmitry out of the office, passing secretaries and soldiers hard at work who stood at attention when their commander passed by. Gleb tried to ignore them, but he knew they only indicated how much things had changed since last he saw Dmitry. Finally, on the street, they walked at a brisk pace, to leave the precinct behind. A block or two away, Gleb asked -

"So really.... how have you been? The reports never said if you were _happy_ or..."

Dmitry didn't expect to be walking alongside his ex-lover in the middle of the streets of St. Petersburg. He figured that Gleb didn't know where he was currently living, and that was good--because Dmitry didn't really have a home at the moment. He just...had a few places that he would fall asleep. But Gleb didn't need to know that.

"Well...I won't lie and say that things have been easy, but...you know pretty much everything. You read my file..." After all, he had a bedroll, some food, and a small amount of money...money gained through dishonest dealings, but again, Gleb probably already knew that. But had he been happy? That was subjective. He figured as long as they were alone, he could be somewhat honest with Gleb.

"I haven't been truly happy since before leaving you. Sometimes I think about what could have been..."

Gleb hummed, agreeing without words. He thought about 'what ifs' a lot, especially in the dead of night, when he couldn't sleep ... or awoke from a nightmare. Sometimes, there was Masha to hold onto, but it wasn't the same. Just thinking of her, even in passing, made Gleb's stomach twist. Was it disloyal to walk with Dmitry through the streets of Leningrad, even if there was nothing to it but respect for what they'd once had, gratitude that he wasn't dead, a kindness from a police officer to a civilian?

_That wasn't all it was._

"But it isn't that way," Gleb said softly. "We've grown in different directions."

Even if their roots were forever entangled, they branched off in search of scant sunlight in their own ways. The overcast of the new regime had stunted growth for all except a select few, and Dmitry was constantly twisting and turning, searching for any little bit of sunlight to grow under. He could see that Gleb had grown, he had risen through the ranks, and was continuing to do so.

  
"Surely you don't miss me that much," Gleb teased. HIs throat tightened. "You've been far too busy to waste time on flights of fancy."

Frowning deeply, Dmitry caught Gleb's arm to stop him.

"I didn't know, Gleb," he said quietly. "I only saw you again for the first time...about two weeks ago?" He sighed. "It wasn't a matter of not wanting to see you, or being too busy. Surely you understand my reasoning behind avoiding the police. I didn't know you were stationed here and once I knew, I didn't know whether you'd even want to see me if I came forward. So..."

Gleb's chest ached. He wondered if Dmitry knew. He must have seen him with Masha. _It isn’t exactly like that,_ he wanted to say. But what was it like, then? How did you tell your ex-lover you had met someone whose loneliness matched your own? Gleb looked away.

Gleb's shoulders shrugged because otherwise, he'd reach for Dmitry

"You were right to be cautious," he said. "I wasn't in a position to see you then. I don't know that... My life has changed as much as yours."

"I can tell that much..." Dmitry said, continuing to walk, not paying attention to whether or not Gleb was walking with him.

"You can't blame me for surviving any more than I can blame you," Gleb said testily He wondered where and with whom Dmitry had seen him two weeks ago. "A man does what he must - you know that."

"Oh, I know. I'm not blaming you for doing what you had to do to survive." Dmitry said, stopping again. He turned to face Gleb.

Silence hung between them for a moment. They walked across the cobbled stones and even though Dmitry did not complain and moved quickly to keep pace with Gleb’s brisk, soldier’s steps, there were moments he wanted to offer his hand or shoulder for Dmitry to lean upon. It was rude to stare, but Gleb wondered how his ex-lover had come by such a painful looking limp. He almost didn’t have to wonder; if he saw Lakovsky again, he’d kill him. One thing was for certain, he remembered hearing Dmitry’s voice in a breadline about two weeks ago and seeing an unsteady man sway on a bad leg during his beat with Bykov - right before the speech and his swiftly-following promotion.

“I thought I might have seen you, too, about two weeks ago,” he said. “I think I see you in the strangest places, so I didn’t give it too much thought.”

"You might know the officer who approached me then. I didn't catch his name…but he was walking the breadline when I got kicked."

“I probably do.” Gleb slid a hand down the side of his face. “Bykov and I were working the breadlines two weeks ago. Masha was teasing me about there being a riot and now there’s paperwork on my desk about it. Kicked, huh?”

Dmitry let out a sigh. "Tomas Orlov. He wasn't happy that the line was moving slowly, so he kicked me. It wouldn't have fazed me if he had kicked my good leg but he didn't."

“Orlov. Yeah, that’s a name I’ve heard before. You know, one of my men caught his brother with fake papers?” Gleb scoffed with a shake of his head. “God. He kicked you? I’ll finish filing that report when I get back. See how he likes a night in prison for disturbing the peace.”

Dmitry wasn't about to mention that he was the one who had sold Orlov's brother those fake papers.

"Yeah, he got me good too. Big old bruise on the back of my bad leg." He still managed to smirk playfully, despite the sad nature of the story.

“I’ll include that in the report. Keep the victim anonymous, of course.”

"...I don't think you should do that. Orlov already hates me, and if he gets arrested for disturbing the peace in a breadline... he'll be even angrier."

“Let me know if you change your mind.” They stopped in the square and sat on a bench, facing the Winter Palace in the distance.“But that… was you, that day, then?”

Dmitry was glad for the break for his leg and he made it known with a relieved sigh.

"Yeah. Unfortunately, I was just in Orlov's way that day."

“I wish I’d stayed just a few minutes longer,” Gleb said. “I’m sorry I didn’t.”

"So, was it you walking off with that pretty blonde woman while the officer dealt with me, then?"

“Masha? Yes.” Gleb paused. “She and I were friends in Yekaterinburg before the war… She’s been wonderful these last few years.”

"Is that all she is to you? A friend?" Dmitry asked, genuinely curious.

“No.” There was no use in lying. His shoulders slumped. He and Masha had an understanding, even if they weren’t in love. It felt like a betrayal to her to cheapen that for Dmitry’s sake and a betrayal to Dmitry to have ever found an understanding with anyone. “She’s… Well, the other officers think we’re perfectly suited. She also lost someone she loved in the war.”

"Can I be honest with you?" Dmitry paused. "I still think about that night that I left sometimes,” he confessed. “I think about what life would have been like if you had come with me...but you've obviously moved on, so I should too."

"Funny," said Gleb, "I think about what life would have been like if you had stayed with me. I guess we'll never know either way."

Dmitry sighed.

"I guess so."

They walked again, this time in silence. Without noticing, they’d moved into the poorer districts of Leningrad, where the benefits of the New Russia did not extend. The air smelled of human suffering and want. Dmitry wasn’t ready to show Gleb where he lived; he wasn’t about to betray the hiding spot of the city’s most wanted criminals.

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry…” Dmitry said. “I never meant to make trouble for you. I'm just doing what I need to do to survive."

"Just... try to stay out of trouble?" Gleb's fingers twitched at his side to reach for Dmitry. Instead, he turned to walk away. Gleb swallowed. He looked back at Dmitry, tracing his face, etching this more-grown version of him into his brain. A soft smile tilted his lips, sad and tender. He extended a hand to him for a handshake."I'm sure we'll see each other again. But not too soon. I don't want you to end up in my office again."

Or maybe he did. But as they parted ways, Gleb and Dmitry both wondered when next their paths would cross. What did you do when the ghost haunting you had a heartbeat and a life as real and painful as yours?


	5. Gleb - Leningrad: 1924

When Gleb left work at the end of the day, he met Masha at the steps of the hospital to walk her home. She nestled against his side, happy to talk about the highlights of her day as he hummed quietly from time to time. As they neared her block, however, she tugged Gleb to a stop, peering up into his face.  
  
“You’ve been very quiet,” she said. “What are you thinking about?”  
  
Gleb couldn’t hide things from Masha easily or well. Instead of lying, he squeezed her hands. Instead of telling the truth, he asked: “Do you believe in ghosts?”  
  
Masha’s bright eyes darkened a moment. She regarded him through her thick lashes. Seconds ticked by. As she studied him, he studied her. They had a good life, didn’t they? She really was kind and intelligent, clever and hardworking: the model of the New Russian Woman. More than that, she understood him in ways Gleb suspected other women wouldn’t. Or, rather, she had understood him until today. Now, he didn’t understand himself. Dmitry was alive and it was as if his world had been tilted on its axis. Gleb had not seen a ghost today - he had very nearly arrested one. Masha’s lips puckered, twitching to the side of her face. Finally, her shoulders slumped and she shrugged.  
  
“Sometimes, I wish I did,” she said. “There are people I have unfinished business with, who died too soon.”  
  
“I thought the ghost was supposed to be the one with unfinished business.”  
  
“It’s all the same thing, in the end,” she said. “Why? Did you see a ghost today, dorogoi?”  
  
“I don’t know,” Gleb confessed. “I thought I did.”  
  
“Let me stay with you tonight.” Masha smoothed a hand across his temple and cheek. “You’ve been working so hard since the promotion…”  
  
They walked to Gleb’s flat without speaking much. They would have a good life together one day, wouldn’t they?  
  
Then why was it that, once she’d fallen asleep at his side, Gleb stared at the peeling paint on his ceiling and wondered if he would be happier with Dmitry beside him instead?  
  
Morning came; with it, work. Gleb walked Masha to the hospital after a meager breakfast and then he walked alone to work. It was routine enough to please him for the rest of his life. The taste of her homemade perfume lingered sweetly in his mouth as he worked, reviewing reports and interrogating suspects. However, as he worked through the lunch break, he scanned the files he had been given for Dmitry’s name. Would Dmitry keep his promise and stay far away from Gleb’s division? He hoped so. He hoped Dmitry finally got that ticket out of Russia. But, still, he would look out the window of the cramped, shared office and onto the street and wonder if he might catch a glimpse of Dmitry moving through Leningrad below. A ghost, Gleb had called him; a ghost he was. What, besides a ghost, disappeared so effectively? Night fell, Gleb walked to the hospital, and he walked Masha home. They spoke of mundane things - her co-worker’s sick son, his co-worker’s grating wife. As conversation petered out, she nudged him gently.  
  
“Any more sightings of your ghost?” she asked.  
  
“No.” Gleb sighed. “I don’t know what I expected, but he’s vanished.”  
  
“He? Does he have a name?”  
  
“Yes,” Gleb said. “Everyone has a name.”  
  
“Maybe. Gleb…”  
  
Her fingers curled into his arm softly. They stopped at his threshold. Rising onto her tiptoes, Masha kissed the corner of Gleb’s mouth. When she pulled away, she peeled back layers of Gleb with her, trying to see the heart of him.  
  
“Whoever he is, he came to you to give you a message. Accept it and let him go, dorogoi.”  
  
“I thought you didn’t believe in ghosts?”  
  
“I know that look in your eyes and I believe in it. Isn’t that enough?”  
  
Gleb kissed her, pulling her in tight for warmth, hoping to feel something and answer that question for himself. Wasn’t what he had enough?  
  
A month after parting ways with Dmitry, Gleb swore he saw him. Walking a beat down the Nevsky Prospekt, Gleb saw plenty of people. But in the crowd, gathering to hear Gorlinsky speak, he saw a young man loping with uneven grace, laughing at something his companion said and it was the laugh most of all that he recognized. Warm, mirthful, a little impish, it was a laugh that wove in and out of Gleb’s dreams as he imagined what his life would have been like if Dmitry had stayed with him. Taunting him across the plaza, Gleb almost chased the laugh down, but as soon as he heard it, and thought he saw Dmitry, his ghost was gone.

Sitting on the banks of the Neva in the setting sun, watching those without homes seek warmth in the early spring chill, Gleb thought about ghosts and messages more. He thought about it often, since Masha had said. Today, peeling a half-rotted apple with his pocket knife and staring into the rushing water, Gleb wondered what message the ghost of Dmitry would try to give him if he was really only a ghost and not a living man. He’d dreamt of ghosts before. His father, his mother, the Romanov children: ghosts kept Gleb company when no one else would. Dmitry’s ghost had been no different until Gleb met him across a very real desk, with very real charges against him. Why had Gleb told him to stay away? He had so many questions for Dmitry. Why had he left? Had it been worth it? Did he still miss Gleb the way Gleb missed him? Was it wrong to still miss him, when someone else warmed his bed? What kind of future could they hope for, anyway?  
  
Gleb chucked some apple peel to the ground. He knew the answer to that last question, at least.  
  
He supposed it’d be different if Dmitry had come back, but so far he hadn’t. He was no figment of Gleb’s imagination. He was real and alive and in Leningrad - and keeping his distance. Was it the uniform? The time that had passed? Masha? Gleb didn’t know what kept Dmitry away now. If this was a real second chance at a life together, Gleb was the only one who saw it. He felt half-crazed, chasing a ghost across paper trails that dead-ended around Leningrad. Nothing brought him closer to Dmitry. If Dmitry was sent to him to pass on a message, maybe it was that it was time to move on. But, hadn’t Gleb done exactly that before seeing Dmitry again? If he saw him again, Gleb would ask Dmitry one question and one question only: Why?  
  
If Dmitry was alive and really in Leningrad, as evidence suggested, then Gleb had to make a choice. He could not have Dmitry and Masha both. Dmitry was, as he always had been, a risk. Not a risk-taker by nature, Gleb wondered if he could gamble his life and livelihood for the love of a man, who he no longer knew, but had once loved more than anything. Masha was the safer choice. Theirs was a certain relationship, that would one day end in marriage, and be secured in the eyes of the law. Each of them would grow in their careers and support each other through life, much as they had these last few years. His relationship with Dmitry predicated on vulnerable honesty, as did his with Masha. But now that Dmitry was alive, there were things Gleb felt he there were things he couldn’t tell Masha and things that he wanted to tell Dmitry first. The understanding between Gleb and Masha had also depended upon their mutual sense of loss. Gleb was no longer entitled to a sense of loss if Dmitry was alive, was he? He no longer understood Masha’s pain; she no longer understood his confusion. He and Dmitry no longer had any understanding. His choices were not as simple as “Dmitry or Masha?”. Instead, his choice was between building a new life on unknown foundations or feathering the nest of the life he and Masha had built with newfound dishonesty. Then, of course, there was the possibility that neither of them would want him in the end.  
  
He handed his apple off to a scrawny girl, who eyed it enviously, and went back to staring at the water. The crunch of footsteps on the embankment behind him got his attention. For a moment, he hoped it would be Dmitry. Instead, when he looked up, his heart sank at the sight of Bykov trudging down the slope. Gleb brushed some frost away for him to sit down.  
  
“You didn’t pick Masha up at the hospital today,” Bykov said. “She wondered if… Well, the sort of things a girl wonders when her boyfriend is a policeman, I suppose.”  
  
Gleb blinked. He hadn’t realized the time or thought that Masha might wait for him or worry about him. Opening his mouth, Gleb struggled for words. Bykov knocked shoulders with him.  
  
“It’s okay. I brought her to my place for dinner with Katya and the children,” he said. “And told her I’d go looking for you. I thought I knew where you might be.”  
  
Gleb relaxed. The two men sat in silence as the sun sank lower on the horizon. Gleb sucked his cheeks in.  
  
“I think I need to conduct a manhunt,” he said.  
  
“Oh?” Bykov leaned away from him. “Who are you looking for, Commander?”  
  
“A ghost.”  
  
Bykov’s jaw slackened, then, laughing, he clapped Gleb on the back. Wiping his eyes before his mirthful tears could freeze, Bykov pushed to his feet and offered Gleb his gloved hand.  
  
“That’s a good one! _A ghost!_ I’ll send out the order straight away, sir!”  
  
Gleb did not take Bykov’s hand but pushed to his feet. He started walking up the embankment, back towards their neighborhood.  
  
“I’ll walk Masha home,” he said, trudging to the road. “She’ll understand.”  
  
Bykov stopped laughing, jogging after Gleb to keep up.  
  
“Be careful, assuming she understands,” he said. “One day, she might surprise you.”  
  
They reached Bykov’s apartment quickly. Katya ushered her husband inside and offered to make Gleb a plate of stew or a cup of tea. He did not accept, saying only that when Masha was ready to go home, he would be glad to walk her. A tenseness settled about the room before Masha conceded that it was late and she should get home to her family before they had cause to wonder or worry. She and Gleb took to the stairwell and when the road forked - one way to his and one way to hers - he took a right and she took a left. Pausing, Gleb turned around to walk her to her place, not protesting that she go his way. Maybe Bykov was right. Maybe one day, Masha would not understand him. Maybe that day was approaching sooner than he had thought. That night, he dreamed of Dmitry - not quite the Dmitry he’d known as a young man, but an older, cannier Dmitry more like the one he’d met some months ago than the one he had known in the army. This Dmitry asked Gleb the same thing he’d once asked when they were young and reckless: _Come with me._ Gleb reached for him and awoke with a yelling start. Beside him, the bed was empty and, maybe, it was for the better that way.  
  
On his day off, Gleb and Masha strolled along the bridges overlooking the Neva. They walked arm-in-arm, more for warmth that comfort. The winter’s chill still gripped Leningrad well into March. The ice, which had formed and broken on the river, continued to break up every day as it rushed towards the sea. Gleb stared past Masha’s ear and to the river. Sometimes, he would swear the Neva was the only living thing in all Leningrad. The city’s people moved with a frozen torpor. Slowly, Gleb’s gaze transfixed on Masha’s profile. He couldn’t remember her looking so sad before. She wore sadness like a second-skin - so naturally that it seemed unnatural to notice it at all. Gleb couldn’t remember her looking quite like that. She carried herself erect, with confidence that seemed oddly juxtaposed against her sadness. Gleb stopped walking, tugging Masha to a halt with him. He reached to brush her cheek with his gloved hand.    
  
“You’ve been very quiet,” he said. “What are you thinking about?”  
  
“I can’t remember the last time you asked me that. What’s the occasion?”  
  
“You tell me,” Gleb said. “You seem sad.”  
  
“I don’t know that I’m sad,” Masha said. “I’ve just been making peace with some things.”  
  
“Such as…?”  
  
Masha smiled and pushed his hand down to his side. Tilting her head to the side, she studied Gleb for a moment and it made Gleb’s palms itch inside his gloves. He felt not only seen but seen through. Did she know about Dmitry? He’d told her he was dead and at the time, that had been the truth.  
  
“You’re never going to marry me,” she said. “And I don’t want to marry a haunted house.”  
  
Gleb’s chest ached. He grasped for Masha’s hands but she didn’t hold his hands in return. She pulled away from him and walked to the railing of the bridge. Looking over the edge, she stared into the water. Gleb followed her gaze.  
  
“Masha…”  
  
“Whether your ghosts are real or not, they’re real enough to hold you back,” Masha said. “And I deserve better - we both do.”  
  
“Masha, please, don’t do this.”  
  
“We both deserve better, Gleb,” she repeated. “When we met again two years ago, you were… different. Funny, kind, alive. But ever since you came to me, asking about ghosts, you’ve been less you. I don’t want to look back at our lives in twenty years and realize I’ve been competing with that ghost since that day. I can’t do this… Gleb, I can’t do this to myself and I can’t do this to you. I’m sorry.”

Watching her go, Gleb felt his heart splinter like the ice floes along the river. And, like the Neva, something stronger, warmer, fiercer broke through the hurt, rushing to fill the cracks. Masha was letting him go to chase his ghost. Gleb couldn’t chase him and Masha both. Somewhere in Leningrad, Dmitry Sudayev wasn’t just a ghost. He was alive. And so was Gleb. Gleb had once told Bykov he needed to conduct a manhunt. Maybe he needed to give it serious consideration. After staring into the river for a long moment, Gleb walked towards his office to renew a search party that had officially closed almost five years ago.  
  
For the next few weeks, he poured over every scrap of police documentation that had Dmitry Sudayev’s name written on it. Most led to dead ends. Many led to shifty-eyed citizens asking what a soldier wanted with exit papers. Between officially assigned work and his search for Dmitry, Gleb was left with little time to grieve the ending of his relationship. Sometimes, he caught himself walking towards the hospital at the end of a shift, or thinking of clever things to amuse her with, or wishing he could apologize for not being what she deserved. But Masha was gone. She had been real and she was gone. Besides, Gleb knew what he’d wanted - and perhaps had known since he met Dmitry by chance. He wanted the life together they had both missed out on when Dmitry defected. Between them, they could craft a new identity for Dmitry in Leningrad and maybe one day leave for those foreign ports Dmitry once dreamt of. They could have a life together - if Gleb could ever find Dmitry again.  
  
But, like a ghost, Dmitry Sudayev had vanished from Leningrad completely.


	6. Dmitry- Leningrad: 1924

Dmitry returned to the Yusupov palace much later in the evening than he intended. It had been a long day, and his leg was stiff from all of the walking he had done. The mid-January chill was evident in the formerly luxurious palace, but from a distance, Dmitry could smell a fire burning. He followed the smell and the distant light, where he eventually found his companion sitting in front of one of the palace's many fireplaces. Wordlessly, Dmitry limped over to Vlad and took a seat next to him, glad for the warmth that the fire brought to him.

“By the way, thanks for letting me know you were going to be gone.” Vlad was sitting on a partially destroyed ottoman that had seen better days, which had been pulled up to the fire burning in the hearth. Some meager scraps of food were there. His tone was sarcastic and a bit low. “I thought the Chekists had gotten to you.” Dmitry didn't appreciate Vlad's sarcasm, especially after the day he had--reuniting with his former lover and all.

"They did get to me," Dmitry admitted coldly while rubbing his hands together and placing them in front of the fire to help bring life back into them. Vlad’s eyebrows raised and he sat up. He tossed Dmitry some of the food, then leaned forward.

“What happened? If I’d have known something was going on, I would have come straight away.” Despite his previous irritation, there was a concern there.

Dmitry caught the food with ease and took a mental note of what it was, then took a bite out of the stale bread, grimacing at the memory of being hauled away by Chekist guards that afternoon. "Someone must have squealed on me. They knew almost everything. But..." Dmitry trusted Vlad with his life, and he wanted to be honest...

"I suppose someone was looking out for me."

“In _St. Petersburg?_ People don’t watch out for you here, they watch out for your mistakes. But...you’re still up and running, which counts for something. Who would have ratted you out?”

"Any number of people, really," Dmitry said bitterly. Truth be told, he knew exactly who may have ratted on him to the police. "But my money is on Tomas Orlov. Remember his brother? We sold him papers not long ago. Apparently, he got arrested while trying to leave the country."

“No - I was sure to make certain those papers couldn’t be traced back to us. The only way was if he told - if they didn’t outright shoot him when they found him.”

"It's not the papers that they brought me in for, Vlad," Dmitry said, getting up and starting to pace in front of the ottoman (his leg was growing stiff again). "It's everything else. All the stuff I did before I met you and then some. I don't know how they knew all of it! ...And...there's...something else..." Dmitry added after a moment.

Vlad frowned a bit and shifted in his seat. The ottoman creaked ominously. He fixed his younger protege with a careful eye.

“What’s this something else? And if they caught you, how’d you get back out? Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad to save you...but we all know what being arrested means.”

Dmitry took a steadying breath. Time to tell the truth. "Don't hate me, okay?" He paused in his pacing. "Four years ago, I was a soldier...in...in the Red Army. I deserted because that war was useless and I never agreed with the Red Army's ideals. It was lodging, food, a steady income...I was desperate Vlad, you have to understand." Dmitry sighed. "And, in my unit...there was a man. Gleb. He was everything to me. He made my time there bearable. I'd even say it was love..." It was more than that, but Dmitry refrained from saying so. "Today, when I was brought before one of the commanders...it was Gleb." Dmitry sunk back down on the ottoman and rubbed his face with his hand. "He thought I was dead, and I wasn't aware that he was stationed here in Petersburg. We hadn't seen each other since the night I deserted...and...when the opportunity came, he gave me a warning and he let me go."

There is a long pause as Vlad absorbed the information. It wasn’t so much a revelation to him that Dmitry served - and deserted - the Red Army. Hungry and desperate people did what they needed to, to survive.

“...Well, this is new. I don’t judge you for joining the Army. They fed and clothed you - sort of - it’s not the most mercenary of things we’ve done. But you...and one of the commanders, eh?” He chuckled lowly and took a breath, leaning forward. He took his hat off, thoughtful. “I don’t care that you loved another man - people are people and we don’t choose who we love.” He sounded distant for a moment. “...But I have to wonder. What was this opportunity? What happened that he let you go. Should I be...concerned about this previous loyalty? Should I cut my losses and try to get out on my own?” Dmitry didn't want to tell Vlad about the hour-long walk they took together that afternoon. No one would dare bother a commander, especially not Gleb, so no one had questioned him either.

Dmitry sighed and chewed on his lip. _Should_ Vlad be concerned? "No. You have no need to be worried." Dmitry finally said. "Gleb has moved on, and I should too. We're getting out of this country if it kills us."

\---  
  
The sun rose over Leningrad far too early for Dmitry’s taste. He hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep and could feel the exhaustion in his bones. Vlad was still sleeping, fairly peacefully despite the hard floor under him. The fire had died overnight, leaving the room chilly in the mid-morning air. Dmitry, not wanting to wake his friend, decided to stretch his legs before his bad leg stiffened, as it tended to do when he remained idle for too long. He rolled up his bedroll and set it aside, then he made his way out of the palace, stretching his arms above his head. Despite the bleak future and the everlasting chill that laid over Petersburg, Dmitry had to admit that it was a beautiful morning. More beautiful than it had been in a long time in his eyes.

Limping down to the banks of the Neva, Dmitry took a seat and looked around for a rock to throw. He found a small pile of them not far from where he sat, and picking one up, he chucked it into the river as hard as he possibly could, watching the freezing river ripple violently from the rock's intrusion.

The previous day’s events played over and over again in his mind like a broken record. Seeing Gleb again had been...surreal, to say the least. He hadn’t anticipated crossing paths with his ex-lover ever again, let alone twice in the same day and yet again a couple of weeks later. His former lover had changed a lot over the last four years. His face was no longer so young and full of hope as it once was. Neither was Dmitry’s for that matter. Not that Dmitry had any hope for the “New Russia” to begin with. However, Gleb was still just as handsome as he remembered. Dmitry was a little unkempt himself--longer hair now and an unshaven face, but he was still the same old Dmitry, just...older and wiser now (if he could call it that.)

Another rock hit the surface of the Neva and sunk below its surface and Dmitry grimaced painfully against the cold morning air.  
  
  
He was cold, he was hungry, he was restless. To a lesser extent he was heartbroken, he was scared, and he was confused (however he would never admit that to anyone). What was the world trying to teach him by bringing Gleb back into his life? Was it trying to make him regret deserting? He wouldn’t regret that as long as he lived (despite the world’s efforts). He had always known that if he was meant to be with Gleb, their paths would cross again one day and he had been correct in that assumption. He just hadn’t anticipated running into the Gleb he saw.  Being honest with Vlad the previous night had left him raw and open. There was no more to hide from his mentor and best friend. He _had been_  honest...hadn’t he? Gleb moved on, so he had to as well. Why were all of these feelings returning to the surface so quickly and forcefully?  
  
  
He had to stay away. This much he knew. His conversation with Vlad about getting arrested was fresh in his mind, and the arrest itself was fresh in his mind as well. He didn’t want to be arrested again because there was no guarantee that he would end up in Gleb’s office a second time if he did. After throwing the third rock into the Neva, and Dmitry closed his eyes for a moment, just listening as the river carried away everything in it. He made up his mind, then. He couldn't go through his life without seeing Gleb ever again, especially now that he knew that he was in the city. Fate had brought them back together for a reason, and Dmitry wanted to find out what that reason was.  
  
  
Standing slowly and carefully, Dmitry made his way back up to the road. He had to drum up some business for him and Vlad today, or they wouldn’t be eating tonight. He only hoped that he was able to avoid the police and Tomas. If Orlov _had been_  the one to turn him in, that was bound to be an awkward encounter. Shoving his gloved hands into his pockets, Dmitry limped his way into town. As he approached the Winter Palace Square, he saw a crowd had formed and someone was giving a passionate speech. Dmitry didn’t want to get too close to the podium, but he could immediately tell who was speaking, just by the voice. The level of passion in his words...it could only _be one_  person.  
  
  
_Gleb._

\---  
  
The following weeks passed uneventfully for Dmitry. He and Vlad continued to sell forged exit papers and other identifying documents out of the Yusupov Palace, steadily building their meager income. However, Dmitry had taken to spending a small amount of his day spying on Gleb, watching and learning his routines if for nothing else than to know when to avoid him. Watching from afar was more than enough for Dmitry. He watched as Gleb walked Masha to work every day. How he would take at least two beats every day, the locations varying based on the day of the week. How he gave two speeches a week in the Winter Palace Square to the few remaining hopeful citizens of Petersburg (and several more bitter, hungry, and angry citizens). Dmitry attended the speeches and stood in the back, if for nothing else than to remind him of better days. Days when winter didn’t seem so cold because he had Gleb to keep him warm. He didn’t believe a word that came out of Gleb’s mouth, nor could he tell if Gleb believed it himself. The passion is what kept Dmitry coming back week after week after week.  
  
  
Soon enough, three months had passed. Dmitry’s leg was getting harder and harder to walk on by the day, but he didn’t have a choice. He had taken to carrying a makeshift cane and spent most of his days sitting whenever he could, walking short distances and doing his very best not to agitate his leg further.  
  
  
He was sitting by the banks of the Neva once again in early April, watching the water rush along. It was warmer than it had been in January, but not by much. The ice that had once covered the river’s surface had now splintered and was floating by in chunks. Dmitry wished he could react faster to the footsteps he heard behind him, but he instead remained sitting and turned his head over his shoulder to look. _Great. It’s Tomas._

“What do _you_ want, Orlov?” Dmitry spat angrily, picking up a pebble from next to him and tossing it into the river. He had done well at avoiding Tomas up until this point, but it seemed that his routine had betrayed him.  
  
  
“Whoa, whoa, I come in peace, Sudayev,” Tomas said. Dmitry found that hard to believe, as the growing bruise on the back of his leg constantly reminded him. However, he still gestured silently for Tomas to take a seat beside him. He was curious to hear what he had to say, after all. They sat in silence for a few moments. The tension was thick in the air, and Dmitry just wanted someone to say _something_ to alleviate it.  
  
  
“Your friend, Popov, told me where you were,” Tomas said.

 

Dmitry made a mental note to scold Vlad for that later.

 

“And? What, are you here to drown me in the Neva?” Dmitry asked. He knew that Tomas was probably still mad about his brother’s arrest and subsequent death. Dmitry had seen his name on a list in a discarded paper.

“Not today, I’m not,” Tomas said, his tone bitter. Dmitry couldn’t blame Tomas for his tone.  
  
  
“Lucky me,” Dmitry said back, rather sarcastically. Death seemed like the better option over talking with Tomas at this point. He certainly deserved it.  
  
  
“Look, Sudayev…” Tomas growled. “I’ll drown you in the fucking Neva if you crave your death so badly, but I don’t think your _boyfriend_ would like that.”  
  
“What are you going on about Orlov? I don’t have a boyfriend.” Dmitry replied.  
  
  
“Oh, so you didn’t spend time alone walking casually with a Chekist Commander? You haven’t been spying on that same commander from afar for the last three months?” Dmitry looked up at Tomas when he said this. His “friends” probably saw him with Gleb and had told Tomas. “I’m starting to question your loyalties, Sudayev.”

“Since when you do you care about my loyalties, Orlov? That’s none of your damn business.”

“Since my brother died by firing squad because of papers that you sold him! How do I know that you didn’t orchestrate that? How do I know that you _aren’t_ in with those Chekist bastards?”

“Because last I checked, Orlov, I got _arrested_ by those ‘Chekist bastards’.” Dmitry hissed, watching a guard on the road look down at them suspiciously. “How do I know that _you're_ not the one who turned me in, in the first place?”

Tomas fell silent. His lack of a sarcastic response told Dmitry everything he needed to know. It had been Tomas after all.  
  
  
“Your hands are no cleaner than mine, Orlov.” Dmitry continued. “So, tell me. Why are you really here? Surely it’s not to heckle me about something that happened three months ago.” Tomas remained silent, shuffling his feet against the ground.

“...I need papers, for my friend.”  
  
  
“Papers aren’t cheap,” Dmitry said, standing carefully, grabbing his cane, and moving to make his way back up the hill to the road. Tomas had done nothing but harass him about his brother, anywhere and everywhere he could, and now he wanted papers for his friend? That didn’t track.

“I know. But my friend can pay,” Tomas said, following after Dmitry and catching up rather quickly. Dmitry internally cursed his limp for slowing him down.  
  
  
“And why didn’t your _friend come_ to me and ask? Why are you asking for them?” Dmitry wasn’t just going to roll over and give Tomas what he wanted when it was more than likely a trap. “I’m not an idiot, Orlov. I know when someone is trying to set me up. But, if your friend wants papers, they can come to me on their own.” Dmitry turned to walk away, intent on not saying another word on the matter. Before he could make it too far, however, Tomas had stuck his foot out in front of Dmitry, causing him to trip and land on the ground unceremoniously. As Dmitry struggled to stand, Tomas crouched down next to him.  
  
  
“Now listen here, mudak. You will get papers for my friend, and you will do it for free. Or need I remind you that you owe me?” Dmitry grimaced, his leg throbbing from his fall.  
  
  
“I don’t owe you shit, Orlov. Your brother getting caught was his own damn fault.” Tomas frowned deeply and stood, promptly stomping on the back of Dmitry’s bad leg with the heel of his boot, causing Dmitry to cry out in pain. He then crouched down next to Dmitry again.  
  
  
“Now...if you don’t want to lose your leg entirely, I want to hear the right answer,” Tomas said. Dmitry blinked back tears and nodded. He didn’t normally cry, but he was in a significant amount of pain at this point. “Say it.”  
  
  
“P-papers for your friend…for free…” Dmitry groaned. Tomas nodded and leaned even closer to hiss in Dmitry’s ear.  
  
  
“And if you try to double cross me...I’ll see to it that you lose that gimp leg of yours, if not your life entirely.” Dmitry just wanted Tomas to leave him alone. He had already agreed to his demands, why couldn’t he just go already? Suddenly he heard a familiar voice, shouting in the distance. Whoever it was obviously had scared Tomas because he took off running. Dmitry did his best to stand but failed several times before a strong arm lifted him to his feet and slung his arm over their shoulder. Dmitry looked over to see Vlad there, and he leaned into his friend’s shoulder for support.  
  
  
“Vlad…” he said, relief lacing his voice.  
  
  
“Good heavens, Dmitry. You must be more careful who you provoke in the future.”  
  
  
“Ha-ha...just...take me home, please?”

“You’ve got it.”

“And Vlad?”  
  
  
“Yes, Dmitry?”  
  
  
“Thanks.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This project is the brainchild of two authors - BeneathTheOperaHouse and imitateslife - and will explore a romantic relationship between Dmitry Sudayev and Gleb Vaganov, spanning nearly ten years. Chapters will alternate perspective - each "Together" chapter is co-written by the two authors and will be followed by independently written chapters from the alternating perspectives of Dmitry and Gleb. "Together" chapters will also be prefaced by Russian poetry that suits the chapter.
> 
> Both authors would like to thank Ser_Charlemagne for inspiring this fic. Without you, this project may never have taken shape!
> 
> Enjoy!


	7. Together -Leningrad: April 1924

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I'm nothing to you" by Maria Petrovykh
> 
> I’m nothing to you, I mean zero.  
> I know, there’s nothing more to say,  
> And yet I love you still more dearly,  
> ecstatically and without mercy,  
> and like a drunk, I stumble, reel,  
> and loiter in a lightless alley,  
> insisting that I love you still -  
> no mercy, and ecstatically.

* * *

 

Skirting the square, walking their final patrol of the day, Gleb and Bykov fell into the same argument they’d been having for a month.

“I’m not going to beg Masha to take me back,” Gleb said, tucking his hands behind his back and pulling himself up straighter. “Let it go.” 

Bykov made a small spitting sound. Gleb shut his eyes. Every lull in their patrol yielded the same conversation with little variation. Bracing himself, Gleb allowed his mind to wander to its usual flight of fancy: where Dmitry might be and how they would reunite.

“You can’t be that much of a fool, Vaganov,” Bykov said. “When a woman like that wonders whether you’ll ever propose to her, you get down on your knees; you don’t let her walk away.”

“Is that how you convinced Katya to marry you?" Gleb smiled to hide his irritation that Bykov interrupted a fantasy in which he and Dmitry met on one of Gleb's nighttime patrols.

Bykov kicked a stone, looking down and rubbing the back of his neck. Gleb smiled.  _ No, _ it wasn’t. Gleb remembered the engagement and wedding festivities. There’d been drinking and dancing and food for days. And the way Bykov puffed up when he saw Katya on the day of the wedding? The way she smiled and blushed at him? The fact that they already had two children and a third on the way? It didn’t compare at all to the dying embers of a relationship Gleb had had with Masha. Not at all. It reminded Gleb instead if what he craved with Dmitry: a future.

“That doesn’t mean letting Masha go was the right thing for you to do.”

“I think it was.”

“Just talk to her," Bykov pleaded. "You were so good together-”

“Good isn’t great.”

“Good is good.” Bykov folded his arms. “And good is better than you can hope for these days.”

“Maybe,” Gleb said. “She ended things, you know. And now, she can go on and find someone great and I… I think I’ll be happy.”

“Is there someone else?”

“No! Maybe. I don’t know. There was someone else before Masha. Don’t smile at me like that.”

Gleb looked away from Bykov, trying to hide the genuine smile that worked its way onto his own face. Only a fool would hope Dmitry Sudayev would come back into his life. Gleb was a fool in the worst way. Since apprehending him, Gleb looked for Dmitry in every crowd, eager to see him again, to hear his voice, to be near him. He longed to catch up properly - not in an official capacity. At night, he longed to feel Dmitry’s slight weight against him on his bed, to hear him moving around the flat. Not all men who loved men were given domestic bliss in Leningrad - whispers from Moscow were enough to have many frightened. But that was Moscow and this was Leningrad. Plenty of men lived happily in love throughout the city. Why couldn’t Gleb and Dmitry? Thoughts of Dmitry’s rap sheet invaded Gleb’s mind at various points in fantasy, but what did they really matter? If Dmitry had turned over a new leaf - and as he hadn’t been apprehended since their last meeting, Gleb could hope he had - they could be together. If only Gleb could find Dmitry again. 

Looking up and studying the blue, April sky, Gleb thought that if he were the praying sort, he might ask not only for Dmitry’s safety but for him to be here with him or at home, waiting. He didn’t know what he had of value to give, but he would give anything to come home to Dmitry at night or in those early morning hours when he’d been assigned one of the dreaded night shifts. Since seeing Dmitry again, Gleb allowed himself to live in hope. It was the kind of hope he knew Dmitry would never approve of; Gleb’s idealistic nature had kept him in the Red Army and then in the NKVD, institutions Dmitry was diametrically opposed to, but still, he hung onto the wish that they could just find each other once more and make the life they deserved for themselves. Bykov elbowed Gleb, tearing him from his thoughts. He followed Bykov's gaze down the street. 

“What do you think’s going on over there?” Bykov asked. 

Gleb didn’t know, but the people were getting louder and so with a nod, he started to walk towards the brewing commotion. He couldn't see into the thick of it just yet but Gleb would have sworn he caught sight of Dmitry at the heart of the brewing trouble. Gleb broke into a sprint to get closer, hoping he was wrong. 

* * *

 

Dmitry had successfully avoided Tomas for two weeks. Ever since their altercation in which Tomas demanded exit papers for his ‘friend’ and had stomped on his bad leg when he refused. He’d been putting it off because Vlad didn’t know the entire story, only that they fought. Vlad was a fairly patient man, but he didn’t appreciate Dmitry dodging every conversation about the incident and Dmitry could tell. But he did what he had to do. They were  _ all doing _ what they had to do to survive.

He couldn’t help but think about Gleb sometimes. When he laid down on his bedroll at night, especially. He was allowed to be with his thoughts then. During the day, he had to focus on survival, on avoiding Tomas and avoiding Vlad’s ever-growing suspicions. But at night, he was able to think and dream about what  _ he wanted _ . About  _ his dreams _ and  _ his wishes _ .

He wanted Gleb.

That was too much to ask, in Dmitry’s eyes. Gleb was clearly happy with Masha. He was a  _ police officer, for _ heaven’s sake! A cop and a criminal? It would never work. His laundry list of crimes was not getting any shorter, even if he turned over a new leaf tomorrow. Vlad needed him, he couldn’t abandon his friend for some flight of fancy that would probably never come true. Dmitry had to get out of Russia. It was only holding him back. 

It was an abnormally cold morning for April, and Dmitry cautiously made his way towards the breadlines, keeping an eye out for Tomas or his goons. If one of them saw him, they’d no doubt alert Tomas. Dmitry couldn’t afford to deal with any of them right now. Vlad was waiting for him back at the Yusupov Palace. When he got back, they would trade places and Vlad would go get his bread, while Dmitry watched over their meager belongings.

Just as Dmitry approached the end of the breadline, he saw someone that made his heart leap into his throat. It was just one of Tomas’ goons, but he knew that if he had been seen, Tomas wouldn’t be far behind. Dmitry turned to go in the opposite direction. He wasn’t  _ that hungry _ anyway. He could wait until tomorrow. As he turned to look over his shoulder to see if he had been noticed, he bumped into a figure and lost his balance, falling on his ass. When he looked up to see who he bumped into, all of the color drained from his face.

“Look who it is,” Tomas spoke, looking down at him with a smug expression on his face. 

“Do you have my papers, Sudayev? Or do I have to  _ beat  _ them out of you?” 

“I’d rather die than give you papers for free, Orlov,” Dmitry spat as he struggled to stand. 

“I think that can be arranged,” Tomas said with a malicious grin on his face. 

He grabbed Dmitry by the lapels of his jacket and pulled him to his feet before punching him in the face, hard. The force of the punch sent Dmitry back into the arms of one of Tomas’ waiting goons. His face burned with pain and Dmitry did his best to brace himself as Tomas approached. A punch to the gut and Dmitry grunted in pain. A kick to his bad leg and he buckled to his knees. Another punch to the jaw and Dmitry was spitting up blood.

“If...if you’re going to beat on me...at least make it a fair fight…” Dmitry panted, wiping a bit of blood from his busted lip. Tomas looked at him incredulously. 

“No, I think this is more fun _ , _ ” Tomas said before kicking Dmitry in the gut again. He crouched down before Dmitry. “I tried to give you a chance to make up your debt to me, Sudayev. I really did. But you apparently have a death wish.” 

A small crowd had surrounded them, watching with amusement as Tomas beat up Dmitry. Did he have a death wish? It was very possible at this point. He had lost Gleb, the only man he truly loved twice, and now he was being beaten within an inch of his life. He deserved this. He never should have tried to stiff Tomas or his brother. He had gone too far this time.

Suddenly, a sharp pain radiated through Dmitry’s side. He looked down. Tomas had stabbed him in the side with some kind of small knife. It hurt more when Tomas pulled the knife out than keeping it in, and Dmitry fell to the ground, writhing in pain.

“I could kill you, Sudayev. I don’t  _ need  _ you to get the papers.” Tomas said upon leaning down and getting close to Dmitry. “But I’m feeling generous today. So here’s the deal. You will have those papers  _ tomorrow, _ or I will kill you in the most brutal way I know how.”

As Gleb and Bykov approached the commotion, as the din loudened, Gleb recognized the man crumpled on the ground immediately.  _ Dmitry _ . Without thinking, he ripped the stranger off Dmitry. The sound of metal hitting the pavement and the shouts of bystanders as the man’s weapon skittered across the pavement told Gleb all he needed to know. Cuffing him and throwing him at Bykov, Gleb barked out his orders -

“Take him to the station! And confiscate the weapon!”

He knelt at Dmitry’s side. 

“Vaganov-?” Bykov started.

Gleb swore. He pulled out his handkerchief and slid it under Dmitry’s shirt to apply pressure to his wounded side. It was one stab; there wasn’t blood everywhere, but that didn’t mean there wasn't any damage. The handkerchief soaked with blood. Gleb tried to murmur something comforting to Dmitry -

“I’ve got you, it’s going to be-”

“Vaganov, are they both under arrest?”

“That man stabbed this man, Bykov.  _ He’s  _ under arrest. Take him. I’ll tend to this man.”

“The report-”

“You’re capable, just go.” 

Bykov called out platitudes to the people gathered in the breadlines before ushering the stranger off in the direction of the police station. Gleb searched Dmitry’s face. 

“How badly do you hurt? Could you stand if I supported you?”

Dmitry instantly recognized the voice that was trying to comfort him. How his hand slid under his shirt to attempt to stem the bleeding. He hissed through his teeth--the handkerchief and the pressure only made him hurt worse. He probably had a black eye by now, easily a busted lip, and bruising all over. Dmitry was extremely relieved that Gleb and his ‘friend’ came to his rescue. Not that Dmitry needed rescuing--he easily deserved everything that came to him.  Taking short, shallow breaths in through his nose, Dmitry tried to laugh, but his side only hurt more. His gaze met Gleb’s and he could feel his black eye stinging as tears came to his eyes. He may have deserved getting beaten up, but that didn’t mean that he wasn’t grateful for Gleb. He was extremely grateful. Tomas would have easily killed him if no one had stepped in. 

“I-if you support me, yes…” Dmitry said, exhausted. All he wanted now was to lean against Gleb. He hated hospitals and knew that he’d likely be arrested after being treated, but he knew that it was coming. His injuries were pretty bad, after all. He coughed and groaned, his side hurting again. “Been through worse than this…” he muttered after several moments.

“We’ll get you patched up,” Gleb promised. He’d wanted to see Dmitry but not like this. He eased Dmitry to his feet, positioning himself against Dmitry’s uninjured side to bear his weight easier and without further injuring him. “Keep applying pressure to the wound.” 

Dmitry nodded and wrapped one arm around Gleb's shoulders, and the other came to his side to apply pressure to the wound as he had been told. There was something familiar about this situation. Their positioning...the applying pressure to a wound...except this time, it was Dmitry who was injured. Yes. He remembered now. He had been trying to block out his time in the Red Army, but it seemed that he couldn't block it out forever.

"Where are you taking me?" Dmitry asked quietly. "Aren't you going to arrest me?"

"Maybe some other time," Gleb grunted, half-joking. "But I'm not in the habit of arresting the victims of violent crimes."

He also wasn't in the habit of taking said victims home. He imagined walking Dmitry to the hospital and running into Masha. He wouldn't be able to nor bother trying to hide that this Dmitry was the man he'd been in love with and that he was the ghost he'd been chasing. As awkward as it would be for Gleb, it would be worse for Dmitry. Did he have papers? Real papers? Anyone besides Gleb to care for him afterward? It would be better to take him home and make good use of what medical skills Gleb had. He was not a doctor, but he could stitch Dmitry up if it came to that. They veered away from the station and towards Gleb's apartment.

"You can testify against whatever-his-name-is if your thirst for justice lasts long enough to make his trial," Gleb assured Dmitry. "But two officers saw him stab you. The court may not even  _ need your _ testimony for a proper conviction… that wasn't a friend of yours, was it?"

Dmitry shook his head weakly. He was tired and in pain. Gleb's statement and the following question almost went in one ear and out the other.

"No...he wasn't any friend of mine," Dmitry said. "I don't know why you stopped him. Why  _ did  _ you stop him?"    

"All in a day's work," Gleb teased. His neck heated underneath his wool collar. "Would you rather I let him stab you to death? I don't think I could live with myself if I let anything happen to y- Well, if I let civilians get murdered in bread lines on my patrol."

Dmitry stared at Gleb for a moment but then put his focus back on the ground as it was before. The short answer was yes. He would have rather been stabbed to death. He hadn't expected Gleb to rescue him. 

"Civilians get murdered in breadlines every week…" Dmitry muttered bitterly. "What made me any different? You saw my file. You know what I've done…"

"All right. Next time I see you about to get murdered, I'll try to remember to look the other way," Gleb said sourly. What did Dmitry want him to say? That he was one of the good cops out there or that he was desperately in love with Dmitry and would be damned if he let some thug murder him when Gleb had the ability and authority to intervene?

"I'm just saying. What makes  _ me different _ from the rest of them? If Tomas had been beating on anyone else, would you have stopped him?"                 

"Yes, but I probably wouldn't be hauling the victim to my home for medical care."

_His home?_ _So that's where he's taking me._ Dmitry thought to himself. He stayed silent, not sure how to broach the topic further. Why was Gleb taking him to his home? Why not the hospital? Didn't his girlfriend work there?

"I still don't understand, but I won't complain further. I'm sorry."           

Gleb nodded, rounding the corner and leading Dmitry up the flight of stairs that led to his flat. Unlocking and opening the door, Gleb guided Dmitry inside as they spilled through the doorway. He flicked on the lights and the electric bulb stuttered to life. Dmitry stared in awe at Gleb's flat when they made their way inside. He had all of this to himself? And electricity too?

"Let's lay you down and see what the damage actually is," Gleb said.

If it looked like an internal organ had been punctured, he'd have to get Dmitry to a proper doctor. Otherwise, a quick hand wash and some creative stitching would probably be enough to heal Dmitry's injury. Dmitry nodded. 

"Uh...okay…" he said quietly. "Thank you, by the way. I don't think I've said that yet. I must seem like such an ingrate…"                  

"I've been told that's a normal response to pain," Gleb said, looking around the main living space for a good place to stretch Dmitry out if he needed stitches or a bandage. 

Realization knocked the wind from Gleb’s lungs. Then, mind made up, he led Dmitry through the slightly open door at the back of the apartment. Gleb's bedroom was not large, but it opened into the washroom and he could lay Dmitry on the mattress. The blankets were laid neatly across the well-made bed. Dmitry stared at the bed dumbly for a moment. Gleb had a bed, all to himself. He had a washroom, all to himself. How fair was that? Dmitry was grateful for the privacy while Gleb was treating him for his injuries, but he couldn't help but think of how many cold nights he spent on the floor of the Yusupov palace, only for Gleb to come home every night to an actual bed.

Easing Dmitry upon it, Gleb could feel his own heart race. 

"Take off your shirt and lay on your good side. I'm going to wash up and get the first aid kit."

Dmitry did as he was told and removed his jacket and blood-soaked shirt, hissing in pain as the fabric passed over his wound, then he laid on his good side, waiting for Gleb to return.

Gleb disappeared into the washroom and stripped off his uniform until he stood in his undershirt and trousers. Explaining Dmitry's blood on his coat wouldn't go over well with Gorlinsky. What would? It wasn't protocol. Gleb scrubbed his hands clean in the sink and dried them on a towel. He pulled his first aid kit and a small sewing kit from the medicine cabinet and dampened a washcloth before reentering the bedroom. Biting his lip, he looked at Dmitry laying in his bed. It would have looked so right, except for the blood. Gleb stood at Dmitry's side. 

Dmitry looked up, surprised to see Gleb return in only his undershirt, but it made sense. He didn't want to get more blood on his uniform than there already was. Was there already blood on his uniform? Dmitry couldn't remember.

"I'm going to clean and disinfect it first," he said. "It might sting a little…"

"I'm a big boy, Gleb. I can handle it." Dmitry said with a nod. Bruises were already starting to bloom on his body, mostly from where he had been punched and kicked. 

Gleb shook his head. Scrubbing the wound clean, first with water, then with rubbing alcohol, he found it was cleaner than the bruises suggested. Maybe they weren't from organ damage. Gleb pressed the wet cloth to Dmitry's side to stem the bleeding.

"It's not as deep as you'd think.” Gleb reached for the first aid kit instead of the sewing kit. "I'll just bandage it and you should be fine - no strenuous activity for a few days, just to give it time to heal."

Gleb set to work applying gauze and pressure and bandages to Dmitry's side with the speed and precision he'd learned on the battlefield. Dmitry's eyes widened and he hissed through his teeth, letting out a couple of curses under his breath while Gleb bandaged him. Dmitry decided to make some small talk to distract from the pain.

"So uh...how's...Masha, was it?"

"She's well, I hear." Gleb smoothed the bandage in place. "I wouldn't know for sure; we broke up."

"You did? Why?" Dmitry asked. "You seemed so...I mean, when you told me about her you seemed happy."

Gleb sighed. He couldn’t expect Dmitry to read his mind, but he wasn’t sure he could articulate it better for Dmitry than he had for Bykov - unless he was able to articulate the hope seeing Dmitry again had awoken in him.

"We weren't unhappy _.  _ But that's different than being happy." A pause, a sad laugh, and Gleb finished bandaging Dmitry's wound. "The last person who made me truly happy… well, it's you."

Dmitry sat up slowly, sitting on the edge of the bed in front of Gleb. He didn’t know how to react to the idea that the last person who made Gleb happy was him. He felt the same way if he was being honest. He hadn’t been truly happy since before he deserted. He wondered what it would have been like if he had stayed. Would he and Gleb still be together? Would he too, have a flat all to himself? A real job? He supposed that it would have been possible...but he would have been miserable, even with Gleb at his side. 

He didn’t even know what to say  _ now. _ What was he supposed to say to something like that?

“Is that why you didn’t take me to the hospital?” Dmitry asked. “Is that why you did all this for me?” he looked away with a sigh. “Why you let me go when you could have easily put me before a firing squad?”

Gleb gritted his teeth. He walked away from the bed to put away the kits he’d taken out. 

“I don’t know which other officers you’ve dealt with, but a firing squad isn’t for every problem. Not for petty crimes and not for the man I love. Rest up. You can go back to wherever it is you’re living tomorrow. You’ve lost too much blood to make the trip today.” 

Dmitry stood far too quickly for a man who was suffering from blood loss should have. That was too much for even Dmitry to handle.  _ Love _ .  _ He said "love _ ." 

Gleb dropped the first aid kit and sewing kit and they clattered to the ground behind him as he rushed to stabilize Dmitry. Gripping Dmitry’s shoulders, Gleb gently pushed him back onto the mattress. 

“Dmitry, please…” His voice broke. “Just rest.” 

“How am I supposed to rest when…” Dmitry felt lightheaded. “...this...this discussion is not over.”

“We’ll have it later,” Gleb said. “I shouldn’t have said anything  _ now _ .”

_ Now? He shouldn’t have said anything  _ **_now_ ** _?  _ Dmitry was reeling (probably from blood loss). 

“Gleb...I-"

Dmitry shook his head, not sure what else to say. So instead, he surged forward and kissed Gleb. Gleb gently grasped Dmitry’s jawline, relaxing into the kiss as if nothing had ever felt so right. When he opened his eyes and pulled away from Dmitry, he still ghosted his lips over Dmitry’s.

“Get some sleep,” he murmured. “I promise - I’ll be here when you wake up.”

With that reassurance, Dmitry laid down on the mattress, looking up at Gleb before closing his eyes. 

“I love you too, you know…” he muttered before finally falling asleep.

Smiling, Gleb turned off the light and let Dmitry rest. Before leaving him to sleep, all Gleb could think was that he was right: nothing else had ever felt so perfect.


	8. Together - Leningrad: Spring 1924

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Love me" by Maria Petrovykh
> 
> Love me. I am pitch black,  
> sinful, blind, confused.  
> But if not you, who else  
> is going to love me? Face  
> to face, and fate to fate.  
> See how the stars shine bright  
> in the dark sky. Love me  
> simply, simply, as day  
> loves night and night loves day.  
> You have no choice. I am  
> pure night, and you - pure light.  
> 

The days of Dmitry’s recovery passed. His bruises faded and his energy and strength returned - slowly, steadily, with each day. Coming home to an occupied flat changed Gleb in ways he hadn’t anticipated. Never before had he wanted to rush home at the end of the workday - never before had he a reason to. Now he had to pack up quickly and hurry home every day. After all, there was no guarantee that once healed, Dmitry would still be there.

But he was. Every day, without fail, Dmitry was in Gleb’s flat. Gleb cooked for two, made tea for two, and slept in a bed not exactly _built_ for two, but that molded them snugly together in the night so that two sets of breathing warmed the chilly night air. It felt more like a home than Gleb could remember any place feeling since Yekaterinburg when his mother was alive. It felt _better_. Dmitry wasn’t used to _having_ a home, to begin with. It was a good feeling - one he wanted to hold on to as tight as he possibly could while it lasted. At first, he was slightly uncomfortable, although perhaps that was because of his bruised ribs, black eye, and a healing stab wound. Yet, as the days went on, Dmitry awaited Gleb’s return from work eagerly.

And then there was the morning Dmitry _wasn’t_ there when Gleb awoke. The silent flat, tomb-like and gray in the predawn hours, was filled with Dmitry’s absence. _Foolish man,_ Gleb thought, making tea for one, _you knew he’d leave._

Vlad was probably worried about him. He hadn’t spoken to his friend since the fight with Tomas--it had been four days already, and he knew that he had to at least make sure that Vlad knew that he was alive. In the streets of Leningrad, there was always a chance that Dmitry might not survive the day. Not with his reputation. 

Wandering into the room that he and Vlad occupied, he was relieved to see his friend there, sitting in front of a roaring fire, watching it crackle and burn the old furniture that they had been using as firewood. 

“This disappearing act of yours is starting to get on my nerves,” Vlad said without looking up. Dmitry limped over to his friend and sat down next to him. His healing injuries were illuminated by the fire, making them look worse than they were.  

 “It wasn’t my fault this time,” Dmitry said bitterly.

 When Vlad looked over at Dmitry, his jaw fell open. “Mother of Moses, Dmitry! What happened?”

 “ _Tomas_ happened.” Dmitry grimaced at the memory. “He decided that he would rather beat my face in and stab me than wait for his goddamn papers. I’ve been er...recovering...for the last few days. I didn’t want to worry you.”

 “Let me get you some water,” Vlad said, rising. “Have you been to the hospital?”

 “Not exactly.” Dmitry didn’t know how to mention that he had been staying with his ex-lover. That he had been _rescued_ by his ex-lover. He let out a long sigh. “Do you remember when I was arrested a few months ago?”

 “And you were allowed to walk free? How could I forget?”

 “And you remember how I ended up in front of my ex-lover, Gleb?”

 “The one you swear you’ve moved on from?” 

Dmitry swallowed the lump in his throat. He didn’t know if Vlad would overreact, but he did know that he had to tell his best friend the truth. “He’s the one who rescued me from Tomas. He took me to his home and provided medical care. I’ve been staying in his flat.”

 “ _Dmitry…_ ”

 “I know, I know. But he...he rushed in and the other guy with him arrested Tomas before I could say or do anything. I was in so much pain, I just...I let him take care of me.”

 “Well, I’m glad to see you’re alive and in one piece.” Vlad turned to walk to the kitchen to get Dmitry’s water. “And now that you’re back, we can get back to our plan to get out of Russia. There’s a train traveling to Munich that leaves in a week-”

 “Actually...about that,” Dmitry said. “I don’t think…” Gods, how was he supposed to say what he wanted to say? “Do we have the money for that?”

 “Not yet. But between the two of us, we could come up with it in time.”

 “Why don’t we wait until we have the money, then? It just... doesn’t make sense to spend every single ruble we have all in one go.”

 “What happened to 'getting out of Russia if it killed us'?” Vlad asked. “Another opportunity this good might not come around.”

 Dmitry sighed again. “I know, Vlad. I just…” 

 He couldn’t say it. He didn’t know how to.

 “It’s that police officer of yours, isn’t it?”

 “What makes you think that?” Dmitry asked, far too defensively.

Vlad crossed his arms and looked Dmitry up and down, a small smile tugging at his lips - a sad, little thing that didn’t meet his eyes.

“You’re playing with fire, Dmitry.”

“So what if I am?” Dmitry crossed his arms.

“Be careful,” Vlad said softly, turning back towards the kitchen. 

“You’re not going to stop me?”

“Oh, please. Would anything I do stop you?” Vlad waved his hands dismissively. “Don’t bring him back here - and don’t let him get your mind too far off track. We’re getting out of Russia if it kills us.” 

The day ended as the bloated, red sun sank into the horizon, seeming to dip into the river. The dreary clouds that overhung the city blotted out the stars. As Gleb walked home, he tried not to think about the day - and forced himself to remember that Dmitry would not be there when he returned home. Tomas Orlov had been convicted of battery and assault this morning - among twenty or thirty _other_ charges, some similar in violence. The magistrate ruled that Orlov be sentenced to _reeducation_ in Siberia - a fate not usually given for normal street brawls. Gleb hadn’t questioned it until, after Orlov was long gone and, as he and Bykov gathered their files, Judge Petrov approached them.

“He won’t bother you anymore, Commander,” he said. 

The judge and Bykov exchanged looks and Gleb thanked the judge, wondering when he would have to look the other way to repay this debt. It didn’t matter. Dmitry would be safe - Gleb’s men couldn’t touch him and now, neither could Tomas Orlov. Gleb wanted to run home and take Dmitry into his arms and celebrate, rooting around in the cupboard for wine or vodka, and- 

\- And then he remembered. Dmitry would not be waiting for him at home. Walking slowly, hands clasped behind his back, Gleb stared at the dirty puddles on the side of the street. The misty drizzle turned to rain and began to obscure his vision as he neared home. From the base of the steps, he could see a dark shape leaning against the doorframe of his home. Something like fear jumped into Gleb’s throat. Dmitry would not be waiting here at home and Orlov was doomed to die. This was neither the best or worst thing to happen, but he hadn’t expected Judge Petrov to collect on his newly incurred debt so soon. Swallowing hard, Gleb walked up to the stairs, expecting to see one of the men from the magistrate’s office waiting for him.

“Good evening, comrade-” His voice caught in the back of his mouth as his vision cleared of rain when he stepped under the awning. “ _Dmitry?_ ”

“Good evening to you too,” Dmitry said with a playful grin. “Hope you don’t mind, I just uh…” His voice died in his throat.

Gleb closed the gap between them, eagerly cupping Dmitry’s face in his hands. News of the trial and questions about where Dmitry had gone could wait. He kissed him and pulled him close, as much for love as for warmth.

“Let’s get you inside,” he said, fumbling with his keys to unlock the door. “I didn’t mean to keep you waiting - I really should give you my spare- I’ll make tea.”

For two this time. 

Dmitry thought about Vlad’s words each day that he returned to Gleb’s flat at the end of the day. The fact that he was playing with fire didn’t bother him, because he _enjoyed_ having a place in Gleb’s life, in Gleb’s home. It almost felt natural as he fell into the routine of working with Vlad during the day and going “home” to Gleb at night. This continued for three weeks, long past the opportunity to leave Russia and strangely enough, Dmitry didn’t mind. 

After three weeks of careful saving and observation, Gleb knew what he had to do. He left work early one sunny Tuesday to go to one of the local furniture sellers. He studied finely crafted oaks and mahoganies, moving instinctively towards chairs filled with plush and covered in soft fabrics and stiff leathers. Dmitry, wherever he’d been living, clearly didn’t have nice things and if he was going to stay - and Gleb wanted him to stay - he deserved a space of his own, made for comfort. The pale gray chair was covered in soft cotton and well-stuffed: perfect for nestling in on those quiet nights when Gleb brought work home or couldn’t converse easily, but wanted Dmitry at his side. For so long, Gleb’s apartment had been designed for one man. Now, there was another living there and he wanted Dmitry to know that Gleb’s home would always be his, too, as long as he would have it. He enlisted Bykov to help him move the chair into the apartment and Gleb hoped to buy the man’s silence.

He couldn’t offer his friend a high enough sum to keep his mouth shut.

“You’re very lucky the man didn’t die of sepsis under your care,” Bykov grunted, as they walked upstairs. “Wouldn’t you rather get him a bed if he’s going to stay?”

 Gleb swiveled his head around the side of the chair to look at Bykov. Silent understanding passed between them as Bykov’s eyes widened.  Then, recomposing himself, he nodded.

 “I see. That explains some things…”

 “Not another word, Captain. Just help me get this inside.”

They set it up beside Gleb’s old chair, tan and patched and worn with use, and it looked new and special - waiting for Dmitry to make himself comfortable. Gleb put the little side table between the two chairs so that they could put cups of tea at their sides or reach easily for each other’s hands. He admired their handiwork, traded pay for Bykov’s well-wishes, and waited eagerly for Dmitry to return from… wherever he spent his days. Gleb didn’t want to know _where_ or what he did. It occurred to Gleb that, knowing the history of his and Dmitry’s relationship, today would be the day his lover didn’t come home. He paced. He made dinner. He feigned casualness in each chair. He paced some more. The door opened. Dmitry entered, looking rather tired. His demeanor perked up upon seeing Gleb there, and he smiled at his lover and made his way over, resting his hands on Gleb’s waist and pressing a kiss to his lips.

“You looked like you needed that,” Dmitry said with a cheeky grin. 

“I did. I _do_.” Gleb raked his hands up Dmitry’s back. “Come on. I have something to show you.”

Dmitry’s face twisted with confusion. “Something to show me? What is it?”

“Come see, over here.” Gleb reached to tug Dmitry’s hands and lead him into the main room off the foyer. “Notice anything?”

He held his breath. Dmitry’s eyes raked over the room, looking for differences. Gleb’s chair was still there...the table was still there...his gaze fell on the gray chair sitting to the right of the table. It looked _new_. Where did it come from? He looked to Gleb for answers.

“Yeah. There’s another chair in here,” he said, confusion moving from his face into his voice. 

“It’s yours,” Gleb said. “If you want it.”

Dmitry squeezed Gleb’s hand for a moment, and he let go so that he could examine the chair closer. He hadn’t ever seen a chair quite like it. And it was _his_! Dmitry eased himself into the chair, feeling the plush underneath him and the cotton under his fingers.

“Gleb...I...I don’t know what to say.”

“It’s all yours,” he repeated. “And, look! Lean back and stick your legs out!”

The look of confusion returned to Dmitry’s face as he did what he was told, and that look turned to shock as a footrest came up under his legs. He started laughing, and leaned back forward, putting the footrest away, then he leaned back in the chair again and let it recline. It was easily not only the most comfortable chair he had ever sat in, but also the most practical. He sat back up and stood, striding over to Gleb, taking him into his arms and kissing him. 

“Thank you. I love it,” he said while the smile on his face grew.

“I just thought that you deserved your own space if you’re going to stay,” Gleb said. “I want you to stay, but-”

“But nothing…” Dmitry said quietly, putting his hand on Gleb’s cheek. “I _want_ to stay.”

“You should. You _can_.”

“I _am_ staying.”

 “Right- I know - Just-” 

_Just nothing_. Gleb leaned forward and kissed Dmitry to shut himself up. Dmitry closed his eyes and leaned into the kiss. He was so grateful, so _happy_. Gleb made him happy. He had never been happier than he was right now. He pulled away from the kiss to breathe, but stayed close, leaning his forehead against Gleb’s.

“What did I do to deserve you?” he asked quietly.

Gleb breathed shallowly. There was only one good way to answer that question. His eyes traced the sweep of Dmitry’s cheekbones, down to his pink lips. Half a breath later, Gleb reeled Dmitry in for a deep kiss, holding him against his own body tightly. Slowly, Gleb’s hands trailed down Dmitry’s body, retracing favorite haunts across the planes of his chest and the ridges of his hip bones. It felt _right_ to kiss him like this - hungrily, happily, without shame - because it was how he remembered always kissing Dmitry. Under Gleb’s hands, Dmitry warmed, pale skin flushing that only made the ache of wanting tug at Gleb’s core more and more with each kiss. He wanted Dmitry. He wanted Dmitry here, in their home, and they could work out the details of what their lives would be later. They were together again - this time for good. Dmitry moaned softly as Gleb’s hands slid between Dmitry’s thighs. A more confident smile overtook Gleb’s lips when the kiss broke. He looked up at Dmitry.

"Try out the chair later,” he murmured. “Come to bed.”

Dmitry smiled and took Gleb’s hand, pulling him towards the bedroom. They stumbled through the doorway and towards the bed. Dmitry couldn’t keep his hands off of Gleb, roaming up his abdomen to his shoulders and down his back. The last time they had done anything like this was not long before Dmitry deserted the Red Army

Dmitry recalled that night approximately four years ago. He thought about the marked difference between how they normally had sex. The mad, lusty rush slowed as he memorized every inch of Gleb before he left. He tried his best to assure Gleb that _no matter what happened_ , Dmitry would always love him. Even if it was the last time they made love, even if that very reassurance had practically given away his plans to desert. But they were together again. 

Pulling Gleb into yet another kiss, Dmitry kissed him until their lips were red and swollen. Their breathing was shallow. His eyelids struggled to stay open. His veins coursed with adrenaline. He wanted Gleb so badly, it was physically starting to hurt as his erection strained against his trousers. Dmitry stepped backward a few steps so that the backs of his legs hit the bed, and he took a seat on the mattress.

Gleb unfastened Dmitry’s trousers, eager to give him a little relief. Sliding his hands down Dmitry’s lean thighs, Gleb knelt between his legs and tugged the trousers down. He kissed Dmitry’s thighs. This was a new beginning for them. They didn’t have to rush for fear of a commanding officer; they weren’t saying slow goodbyes. They could go at a pace which suited them. As he tugged down Dmitry’s underwear, Gleb admired Dmitry’s cock. Maybe the pace that suited them today wouldn’t suit tomorrow or next week or next month, but today, an eager desire to please gripped Gleb so he took the head of Dmitry’s cock into his mouth, swirling his tongue around him. He remembered this taste, this feeling. He wanted to savor it without leaving his lover in half-agonized anticipation. 

Gleb took Dmitry deeper, sucking just a little harder. As he sucked Dmitry, Gleb moaned softly with pleasure. He never thought they’d make love again, much less make love _here_ in a home they could call theirs. He no longer had to beg Dmitry to stay - only now to _come_ as Gleb’s tongue traced Dmitry’s stiff cock. For all that had changed in the last four years, some things miraculously hadn’t. Dmitry’s familiar size and shape, taste, and smell, were the things Gleb’s dreams had been made of on lonely nights. He had tried not to have many of those, but there had been enough that Gleb had not forgotten the places to touch Dmitry to draw out groans and mewls that rang out like music in their bedroom. _Theirs_. Some things miraculously had not changed but others… Others had changed for the better. 

Gleb sucked hard before licking Dmitry teasingly once more. He flicked his gaze upwards to see pleasure play out on Dmitry’s face. A thrill ran through him and Gleb took Dmitry deeper into his mouth, then his throat, while reaching to unfasten his own trousers as discreetly as he could. He groaned as his own fingers brushed his erection. _Soon_. Now, it was about Dmitry. Gleb could wait as long as Dmitry came for him. He reached to touch Dmitry instead, glancing up every so often to register the emotions flickering on his face. 

Dmitry cursed under his breath, clutching the blankets in his fists, attempting to keep his composure as Gleb sucked and licked him. He felt like he was flying, and he never wanted to come down. He half expected someone to burst in and report them to their commanding officer, but that’s when Dmitry remembered: they weren’t at war anymore. They were doing this in the privacy of Gleb’s--no-- _their_ home. No one would come bursting in. They could take their time.

“Gleb…” Dmitry moaned. Despite knowing that they could take their time, it had been a good while since Dmitry had done anything sexual with anyone, so he didn’t think he would last much longer tonight.

“Hmm?” Gleb looked up, hollowing out his cheeks slowly as he sucked again.

"Shit…" Dmitry swore far too loudly. "If you keep going like that, I'm going to...ah…" he didn't have to finish his statement as he came unexpectedly in Gleb's mouth. 

Swallowing what he could and wiping the rest from his face with a warm laugh, Gleb pushed to his feet. He leaned over Dmitry and kissed him. When he pulled away, he grinned.

“I’ll be right back,” Gleb murmured. “Get comfortable.”

Gleb watched Dmitry over his shoulder as long as he could before disappearing into the washroom. The frantic rustle of things in a drawer and then a slam, repeated for a few moments as he searched was the only indication of what he might be doing. When he emerged, a small jar in hand, he looked at Dmitry, who laid on the bed. Dmitry looked up from his place on the bed and smiled.

“How do you feel?” Gleb asked, setting the jar aside and leaning in to kiss Dmitry. 

Dmitry kissed back greedily. 

"Good. No, _better_ than good." 

Gleb pressed a kiss to the side of Dmitry’s neck, smiling as his hands slid down Dmitry’s chest.

“Well, that’s _better than good_ , then,” he teased.

Dmitry let out a shaky sigh. He wanted Gleb so badly, but he was worried about his leg. They had to be careful. "I love you so much…" 

“I love you, too.” Gleb continued to kiss the crook of Dmitry’s neck He reached across the bed and pulled a pillow over, nudging it into Dmitry’s hands. “For your back.”

It would take some of the strain off. Dmitry sat up for a moment and put the pillow under his back, then laid back down.

"I take it you have a plan?" 

“I always do.” Gleb studied Dmitry’s positioning on the bed. The last time they’d made love, they’d been what felt like much younger men. It had only been four years since, but it still felt like a different lifetime. Gleb hadn’t imagined until very recently that he would have to avoid hurting Dmitry’s leg - they’d been so careless in caring for each other before. These last few weeks, he’d had to shift his thinking. And so the best thing he could do was shift Dmitry’s good leg, kissing Dmitry’s inner thigh as he lifted it and hooked it over his shoulder. Gleb reached for the jar of lubricant. Pausing, he looked at Dmitry again. “How does that feel?”

“ _Better than good_ ,” he muttered, trying to overcome the lightheadedness that had overtaken him. 

Smiling, relieved, Gleb oiled up his fingers, tracing Dmitry’s sensitive skin, teasing him a little, but also trying to see what he would be able to do to and for him. Looking down, Gleb cocked his head. 

“Still better than good?”

Dmitry swallowed thickly and nodded. He didn’t say anything. Slowly, Gleb slid one finger into Dmitry, going to the second knuckle. Dmitry cursed and his head fell back onto the pillow. He had been trying to watch what Gleb was doing, but that was pointless. Gleb opened Dmitry carefully, first with one finger, then two, pressing his lips together as he did, trying to ignore his erection until he knew Dmitry was relaxed and comfortable. Then, oiling himself up, he slid into Dmitry with a loud, relieved groan. Dmitry moaned as well, closing his eyes and taking in every sensation.

“ _Oh, Dima…”_  

He still felt as good - "better than good” - as Gleb remembered. 

Gleb slid deeper into Dmitry, grasping his hips and murmuring words of excited and loving praise between curses and sounds of pleasure. They found a rhythm, like walking step-for-step with each other by the Winter Palace that first day. It felt natural, the way they were supposed to be. Gleb wanted to marvel at how close they were to each other and at how easily lovemaking came to them but as his climax neared, he couldn’t think. He could only look into Dmitry’s eyes and tell him he loved him one more time before coming undone with a shuddering moan. He pressed his forehead to Dmitry’s and kissed him, breathing hard. Dmitry let out the breath he had been holding, his chest heaving and he kissed Gleb back. Avoiding Dmitry’s right leg, Gleb rolled off of him to lay at his side. 

“You,” he murmured at the crook of Dmitry’s shoulder, “are so…” _Perfect._ He sighed. “God, I’ve missed you.”

Dmitry laid still, trying to catch his breath. “I’m sorry…” he said after a few moments. “I’m sorry that I left.”

“Shh.” Gleb stroked Dmitry’s face. “I didn’t mean it like that. I meant… That was _spectacular_. _You_ are spectacular.” 

Dmitry sighed and nodded in agreement. “I know. And it was. But I just...I had to say that.”

“You don’t _have_ to say anything,” Gleb said. He wrapped his other arm around Dmitry’s middle. “But I appreciate it. I do.” 

Dmitry wrapped his arm around Gleb and held him close. He had to savor the moment now. Who knew how long it would last? Gleb sighed. Maybe he could finally believe that Dmitry would stay.

“I love you.” Gleb buried his face in Dmitry’s shoulder, smiling softly. 

“I love you too,” Dmitry murmured back.

They continued to whisper in the bedroom as night fell over Leningrad - no more promises or apologies, but little memories and stories and compliments neither would remember with total clarity when morning came. Sleep descended upon them, until, nestled together, they breathed in time with each other, perfectly in-sync.

**Author's Note:**

> This project is the brainchild of two authors - BeneathTheOperaHouse and imitateslife - and will explore a romantic relationship between Dmitry Sudayev and Gleb Vaganov, spanning nearly ten years. Chapters will alternate perspective - each "Together" chapter is co-written by the two authors and will be followed by independently written chapters from the alternating perspectives of Dmitry and Gleb. "Together" chapters will also be prefaced by Russian poetry that suits the chapter. 
> 
> Both authors would like to thank Ser_Charlemagne for inspiring this fic. Without you, this project may never have taken shape!
> 
> Enjoy!


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